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I MARIE’S MISTAKE. 

f J 

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r, 

# 




A WOMAN’^ HISTORY. 



“The intent, and not the deed, 

Is in our power; therefore, who dares greatly, 
Does greatly.” — Brown’s Barborossa. 

“I dare all that becomes woman; 

She who does more, is none.” 

— Abbreviation of Shaeesfearb. 





BOSTON: 

PRATT BROTHERS, PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS, 

No. 37 COKNHILL. 





Ml'' 




Entered, according t(^ct of Congress, in the ye^ 1868, by 
A?M. C. MASSENA, 

In the Cleric’s Office of the District Court of the District of Missouri. 


Pratt Brothers, 

55 tctcotapers anh ^printers, 
37 CoBNHiLL, Boston. 


# 


\ 


■ 1 . 






' MARIE’S MISTAKE. 

ooj^ioo 

CHAPTER I. 

Oh ! give me back the sunny smile 
Of childhood’s happy days, 

Ere my unwearied feet had learned 
To tread life’s wildering maze. 

Yes ; give me back that smile of joy,* 

That sinless smile without alloy. 

And once again, oh ! give me back * 

My happy, careless heart ; 

A heart which never had been pierced 
By sin’s envenomed dart ; 

A heart untainted, free from sin. 

And sweet untroubled peace within. 

'Tis vain ! such wishes all are vain ! 

Those days can come no more ! 

. They have passed adown time’s rolling wave 
To dark oblivion’s shoi'e. 

Though past in memory still they dwell, 

And cheer me with their magic spell. 

Those days so sweet can ne’er again 
Illume with radiance bright. 

The heart which once has sorrow known 
Can never more be light. 

No ; life’s bright morning sun has passed, 

And o’er my brow a shade has cast. 

SAY, Uncle Jim, I am going with 
you after the cattle, so, just put a 
bridle* on Old Grey; you need not 
get a saddle, I do not want one ; but hurry, for 




6 


makie's mistake. 


if they miss me at the house, I will not get to 
go. There, that will do.” 

And the speaker, a young girl of perhaps 
thirteen or fourteen years of age, but so very 
small and slight in appearance that a stranger 
would have taken her to be much younger, led 
the horse to aTog that was used as a step in en- 
tering the huge barn, and with the quickness 
and agility of a young monkey, sprang upon 
the horse’s back. 

It would be impossible to give the reader a 
very correct idea of the appearance of Marie 
Lafourche at the time we introduce her to our 
readers. Small, slight in figure ; black eyes ; 
straight black hair, and so long, it descended to 
her knees, and was worn just now in two long 
braids, which hung down her back ; her com- 
plexion, naturally dark, by being constantly 
exposed to the sun and wind, was almost as 
dark as a gipsy’s, but the brilliant color that 
- ever flushed her cheek relieved it from sallow- 
• ness.' Every emotion, either of love, joy, or 
hate, could be read in a moment in the bright 
eyes. Although her face was not exactly 


marie’s mistaice. 


7 


beautiful, it was, as a mirror, reflectiug every 
emotion of that young, untamable, passionate 
heart. Although many a fair belle may be 
-shocked at my poor taste, yet I assert, that, 
notwithstanding her sunburnt, gipsy complex- 
ion, irregular features, and straight black hair, 
Marie Lafourche was beautiful. Yes, little 
gipsy, nature’s child ! The very nobility of 
thy generous, passionate nature, mirrored i^ 
that bright young face, rendered your claims to 
beauty far stronger than a fashionable belle, 
with all her arts and graces. And a person 
could not look into those large dark eyes with- 
out feeling they were the mirrors of a lioble, 
generous heart. 

But we must not just now leave our tiny 
heroine seated upon the horse, while we give a 
longer description of her. 

”1 say. Uncle Jim, come on, quick. We will 
get off before that tiresome mammy Eda misses 
me.” 

But, just at that moment, a negro woman 
came running into the yard almost out of 
breath. ”You, Miss Marie,” exclaimed the 


f 


8 


maeie’s mistake. 


old woman ”you must not even tink going otF 
dat way, nohow. If young miss want de 
exercise of ridin’ hossback, she must have a 
ridiii’ habit and saddle and proper company. 
Now, chile, don’t ’tempt to go dat way. An’ 
den, dey is ’specting company at the house ; 
an’ you is not fit to be seen. Come back dis 
minute, chile, an’ let me fix^your har, and put 
on ’nodder dress on^you; and do try to ’have 
yourself little mo’ proI)er like.” 

^’Now, I hope you are through, mammy ; for 
Uncle Jim and I must be going. Just please, 
mammy, go back to the house. I can take 
care of myself; and then, you see, I am com- 
pelled to go and see about my cattle ; they 
could not be brought home without my being 
along; could they. Uncle Jim?” And with a 
gay nod of the head to the old woman, she gave 
the reins of her bridle a jerk, and galloped off 
down the road. With a laugh at the discom- 
fiture of the old nurse, Jim followed, well 
pleased to have the girl’s company, for she was 
the idol of every negro on the plantation. 

” What is the matter, Eda? What has your 


marie’s mistake. 


9 


little mistress been doing now?” laughingly 
asked a young man who entered the barn-yard 
a few minutes after Marie and Jim rode off, 
and seeing Eda gazing down the road after 
them. 

”Oh, nothin’ new, Massa Tonie; only dat 
'‘chile’s goin’ to destruction, ef old massa don’t 
make her ’have herself better. Why, here, 
she niost young lady ; an’ dere she go, galloping 
after de cows widout any saddle, her hair all 
down her back, jes like wild Injun I ” 

” Never mind, aunt ; she will get more digni- 
fied as she gets older.” 

With many shakes of the head, as if she 
had little faith in the young man’s hopes of 
imj)rovement in her young mistress, old Eda 
returned to the house. Antoine Lafourche was 
a cousin to Marie, and many years her senior. 
He resembled her in many respects ; the same 
dark eyes, broad, low forehead and black hair, 
he also possessed en facsimile. He seated 
himself upon the step of the barn after the old 
nurse had returned to the house, and fell to 
musing. His thoughts could not have been of 


10 


marie’s mistake. 


very pleasant character, if we might judge 
from the expression of his countenance. 

"Yes,” he soliloquized, "I fear Aunt Eda is 
right; we have encouraged Marie in her wild 
gypsy propensities ; it is, indeed, time she 
learned to be more dignified, for if my mother 
and father were to die, I do not know what I 
should do with her. Sister Camille has no 
patience with hev. Now, if she was not a rela- 
tive, I suppose I could marry her after her 
education is completed; but as it is, our Holy 
Church forbids the marriage of relatives ; so 
that is impossible. But it will be so hard to 
see my little g3q3sy given to another. 

But I must be dreaming, for, yonder 
comes my old friend. Captain Luzerne ; ” 
and before Antoine Lafourche could leave 
his seat on the log upon which he had 
been sitting, a gentleman galloped into the 
yard. 

The’ captain burst into a torrent of ex- 
cited exclamations about a little hussy he 
had just met. 


• marie’s mistake. 


11 


For a moment an angry flush mounted to 
the brow of Antoine Lafourche — it was but 
for an instant, for he knew Captain Luzerne 
little dreamed of whom he was speaking; 
he therefore calmly replied : 

Why, Captain, you run on so at random, 
how am I to tell who you are talking about?” 

"Well, then, I will be sensible, and re- 
late my adventure of the evening. About 
half a mile from this place, as I was dashing 
along the road, I came up with an old negro 
man and a young girl, who were driving 
cattle. I did not fancy keeping pace with 
them, so I attempted to pass, and was or- 
dered very peremptorily by the girl not to 
do so, as I would frighten her cattle. As 
I am not accustomed to obeying orders, 
especially orders emanating from feminines, 
I did not obey her; but if ever jooor mor- 
tal run the gauntlet, I did so, for so Tar 
as threats and invectives were concerned, 
and in winding up her torrent of abuse, the 
little one said if she ever came across me 
again, she would scratch my eyes out, and 


12 


maeie’s mistake. 


I suppose I may prepare for that very paiu- 
ful operation, as I see them coming. But 
do tell me who she is, for I am half in 
love with her in spite of her not very angel 
temper.” 

”Well, Captain, I will tell you when she 
comes, for she lives here. But I cannot 
promise a very gracious reception from her 
ladyship, as you have been so unfortunate 
as to offend her. Neither will I promise to 
give you God-speed in your love making to 
my little ward.” 

Just at this moment Marie and Jim (for 
of course, ere this, the reader must have 
surmised who the gypsy of Captain Lu- 
zerne’^ adventure really was) entered the 
barn-yard. Antoine went to assist Marie to 
alight from , her horse, but before he could 
get to her, she sprang from the horse, and 
tossing the reins to Jim, exclaimed : 

'' If there ain’t that old mean thing that 
frightened my cattle ! What is he doing 
here, Tonie? Come courting Camille? Well, 
if she wants him, I suppose we wdll have 


maeie’s mistake. 


13 


to give her to him, for we will not want 
her with her prim, old-maidish ways, when 
we go to keeping ' bach’s hall.’ Will we, 
Tonie?” 

Marie^ the Captain wants you to bo 
friends with him; he offended you uninten- 
tionally. Come, Captain, I will redeem my 
promise of making you acquainted with our 
gypsy queen. Mademoiselle Marie Lafourche, 
Captain Luzerne. My little cousin, I hope 
you and Luzerne will be as good friends 
as he and I have ever been.” 

When Antoine announced the name, and 
the relationship of the girl to himself. Cap- 
tain Luzerne was for a moment visibly 
embarrassed, for he recalled the not very flat- 
tering remarks he had made in alluding to her. 

Oh, never mind. Captain,” replied An- 
toine, observing his embarrassment; knew 
you were not aware of whom you were 
speaking.” 

Thus re-assured. Captain Luzerne hastened 
to make his best bow, and commenced an 
apology to Marie in the most approved terms. 


14 


marie’s mistake. 


'’I am most happy, Mademoiselle, of an 
opportunity of apologizing for my apparent 
rudeness this evening — ” 

"Now, just stop that and talk sensible, if 
you please. I do not wish any apology, 
and if you really want to be friends with 
me, I will forget all about your frightening 
my cattle, if you will promise to let me 
ride your horse tomorrow. I tell you, I 
like that horse far better than I ever expect 
to like you.” 

" I very much fear. Mademoiselle, that 
my horse is not very safe for you to ride ; 
and then, if he is going to be my rival in 
your regards, will not I be going against 
my own interests in loaning him to you? 
But if your riding him is the only condU 
tion upon which we can be friends, I must 
consent. But will not Mademoiselle allow 
me to accompany her in her ride?” 

" Well, I cannot promise,” replied Marie, 
because you see it’s a heap more jolly to 
go just as I went this evening. And if 
cousin Camille and aunt Eda find out 1 


marie’s mistake. 


15 


am going with you to ride, I will have 
to have on a great riding habit, and all 
description of nonsense heaped upon me, 
until I look just like a walking millinery 
shop. I do not want to be like other peo- 
ple, and Tonie says I shall not be. Now I 
am very much opposed to being made a 
walking advertisement for merchants and mil- 
liners.” 

Well, if those are the only objections, 
we will steal a march on them, and go 
without all those offending articles. So 
please consider yourself engaged for a ride 
at seven o’clock in the morning.” 

” Well, I am not going to stay here and 
talk to you any longer; I am hungry, and 
want my supper. But, take care, sir, I do 
not steal a march on you about that ride. 
I have not promised to forgive you yet, 
and I think you do not deserve immediate 
mercy at our hands;” and, with a merry 
laugh, Marie ran up the pathway that led 
to the house. The two young men followed 
more leisurely. 


CHAPTER II. 

Life to me has been but a dream, 

Aye but a cruel jest — 

Pleasures have turned to pain, 

Robbing the soul of rest. 

is it I never saw your little 
[isin before, Antoine?” 

" Because she was away at school 
when you were here before. You must excuse 
her wild, rude waySj for we have never 

sought to correct or restrain her in any way, 
and she has grown up a perfect child of 
nature. There . is no art about her. She 

thinks what she says, but if you succeed in 
gaining her affections she would die for you ; 
and, wild and untamable as she appears, 
she is a perfect slave to the will of those 

she loves; and then, too, she is scarcely 

fourteen years old yet.” 

" Fourteen ! ” exclaimed the Captain ; ” I did 
not think her so old as that. Why, in a 
year or two more she will be in the market 
matrimonial.” 

” Not so soon as that, I hope, for there 
are few men who would have^suff cient patience 




marie’s mistake. 


17 


with my poor little Marie’s many faults. 
And then, very unfortunately, she is an 
heiress, and might become the victim of 
some fortune hunter. I would not 'svish to 
see her go out into the world and take 
her place there as a woman for many years 
yet ; but, as far as that is concerned, I 
will be compelled to yield to the judgment 
of others, and I believe my sister has 
determined to introduce her into society at 
fifteen ; so I suppose she will make her 
dehut next year. She will return to school 
again in a few days, to remain there one 
year. Her brother has been travelling for 
several years ; indeed, Marie has not seen 
him since she was a mere child, and I 
doubt if she really has any recollection of 
him. My uncle’s immense fortune was left 
entirely to Louis, but as he could not legally 
hold it all in his own right, he has always 
promised my father the property shoifld be 
equally divided between Marie and himself. 
I have no doubt the pledge will be fulfilled 
when he next visits us, especially if he docs 


2 


18 


marie’s mistake. 


not marry previous to that time. My father 
says the business must be arranged on 
Louis’ next visit. I do not think but that 
it wiir be.” 

The two gentlemen entered the drawing- 
room just in time to hear Eda’s parting 
injunctions to Marie. 

" Dar, chile, you looks heaps mo’ ’spect- 
able now. Do ^try to ’have yourself dis one 
ebeiiin. Don’t you see, chile, your ’noxious 
conduc’ make people ’tinually takiii’ ’ceptions 
to you. Why, dar the strange gemman, dis 
berry ebenin, take you for some low white 
trash. Well, here de young gemmans an’ 
I is going to leave ^mu, so ’member now 
an’ ’have yourself. Your sarvent, young 
gemmans. You see I was just telling 
young Miss ’bout try in’ to be mare digni- 
fied ; but laws, Massa Captain, it does no 
good nowhow; quick as she git chance, off 
she go wid Massa Tonie huntin’, or wid 
Jim after the cattle ; and de wust of it is, 
Massa Tonie ’courages her in her bad ’pen- 
sities. So dar in’t much hope, after all ole 


marie’s mistake. 


19 


Eda can say, doin’ any good. But I is 
talkin’ too long. Good ebenin’, gemmans.” 

Well, that is an eccentric bid negro,” 
laughingly exclaimed Captain Luzerne, as 
Eda made her exit from the parlor ; but 
how is Mademoiselle? I suppose mammy 
Eda’s lecture has left her in a very humble 
and penitent frame of mind Oh, here she 
is ! I don’t think she is looking very peni- 
tent either.” 

''No, Captain; you need not expect to 
see me the occupant of a stool of repent- 
ance every time mammy Eda gives Antoine 
and myself a lecture on propriet}^ we are 
quite accustomed to hearing them; are we 
not, Tonie?” 

' "Yes, Marie ; and I fear we do not, as 
you say, profit very, much by her advice. 
But we must give more heed to it in 
future; it is time, indeed, that Marie was 
a little more dignified. Why, next year, 
remember, you are to make* your dehut in 
society, and I fear you will not make a 
very brilliant debutante^ unless you improve 
greatly this year.” 


20 


marie’s mistake . 


”Why, Tonie, what is the matter with 
you? What have I done?” exclaimed Marie, 
almost ready to cry ; ” it was you that 
always encouraged me in what you term my 
undignified ways, and now when I was just 
graduating under your tuition, you go over 
to the enemy — that is, cousin Camille and 
mammy Eda. But supper is waiting ; come, 
and perhaps after this is over you will feel 
better. I will not kiss you until you apolo- 
gize, sir,” exclaimed the little gypsy, leading 
the way to the dining-room. 

” That last would be a terrible punish- 
ment to me,” said Captain Luzerne; ^'were 
I ill Antoine’s place, I should most cer- 
tainly hasten the reconciliation by a most 
humble apology.” 

"You are ^impertinent, sir. I am not 
accustomed to such nonsense, and if you 
wish me,” she replied, flushing with anger, 
”to be friends with you, stop it.” 

"Marie, Marie, you are positively insult- 
ing. What is the matter with you this 
evening?” 


marie’s mistake. 21 

"Nothing, Antoine,” replied Marie, "only 
I feel this evening just like I was entering 
upon a new life — a new stage of existence. 
It is true, too true, that next year I must 
go out into the world, and take my place 
there as a woman — represent the last 
descendant of a proud family. I must indeed 
cease henceforth to be a child.” 

"There, Marie, hush! Be yourself. I do 
not think the sad, the tragic, at all becom- 
ing,” replied Antoine, as they entered the 
supper room. 

We will leave our litjble heroine and her 
friends for a brief time, while we give a 
short account of their previous history. 

First, then, we will commence by inform- 
ing our readers what we have as yet failed 
in doing — that is, the place of residence of 
our heroine and other characters we have 
introduced to the reader in our story. 

Seviere Place, the plantation of M. La- 
fourche, was situated near San Antonio, 
Texas. We must not pass Seviere Place by 
without giving the reader a short descrip- 


22 marie’s mistake. 

• 

tiou of it, and relating a romance connected 
with it. 

Previous to its purchase by M. Lafourche, 
Seviere Place had been owned by a French- 
man of high rank, who, in the earliest 
settlement o^^ie country, had emigrated to 
Texas, where, purchasing several thousand 
acres of land, he built a princely residence 
upon it, whose magnificence reminded one 
more of some castle or chateau of la belle 
.France, than the private I’esidence of an 
American citizen. The building itself (an 
immense square structure of grey stone) 
stood upon the summit of a high hill; it 
could be seen for miles around. The grounds, 
of several acres in extent, gently sloping to 
the foot of the hill, were beautifully laid 
out and ornamented, and presented the most 
. magnificent appearance. But the poor old 
gentleman did not long survive to enjoy the 
magnificence of Seviere Place. His wife he 
had buried in France, but he possessed an 
only child, a beautiful daughter, and his 
heart’s idol — all his vast wealth was as 


marie’s mistake. 


23 


nothing to him in comparison with his 
child. 

Unfortunately she was no exception to the 
generality of only daughters. She was a 
petted, spoiled child, wilful, headstrong, 
always having her own way in all things. 
Finally an adventurer came in the neighbor- 
hood, whose acquaintance Mademoiselle soon 
made. The man was handsome, agreeable, 
fascinating ; but one at all versed in the 
ways of the world, or an adept in reading 
the human character, could perceive he Avas 
a person of little or no principle. From 
their first acquaintance. Monsieur Sevier e had 
taken a violent dislike to him; but just 
in proportion as the latter’s dislike increased, 
so did his daughter’s love or infatuation for 
the miserable, unprincipled adventurer. 

M. Seviere’s love for his child was too 

1 

deep, too earnest, his desire for her happi- 
ness too sincere to admit of his seeing her 
Avreck her happiness for life without Avarning, 
entreating, and finally, when -these proved 
ineftectual, commanded her to desist from 


24 


marie’s mistake. 


the course she was pursuing, to stop all 
further acq[uaintauce with the man; but all 
ill vain. Finally, one day, angered beyond 
endurance by the girl’s threats of eloping 
with the stranger, if he did not give his 
consent to their marriage. Monsieur Seviere 
had locked the girl in a large room in the 
second story of the building. That very 
night, through the treachery of a servant. 
Mademoiselle Seviere attempted to make 
her escape by means of a ladder, but just 
when within a few feet of the ground, the 
ladder broke and precipitated her into the 
arms of her all too fascinating lover. The 
noise awoke M. Seviere, who rushed out of 
the house, and ordering the miserable scoun- 
drel to leave his premises, attempted to 
force his daughter to go back to the house. 
The man, thinking desperate means required 
desperate measures, drew a pistol and shot 
the father through the heart. M. Seviere 
fell dead at his erring daughter’s feet, his 
life-blood saturating her clothes. Mademoi- 
selle Seviere gave one look at him who had 


marie’s mistake. 


25 


been the most affectionate and devoted of 
fathers, and saw that he was indeed dead — 
dead without one word of forgiveness to 
his erring but repentant child — and from 
that moment she was a raving maniac. The 
unprincipled scoundrel who had blighted and 
ruined that once happy household met his 
just deserts at the hands of the hangman. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ *Tis sad to muse upon the past, 

Where erst our cherished hopes were bright ; 

While deep’ning shadows round us cast 
Their gloom unpierced by cheering light. 

But there is one consoling thought 
Still left to cheer the heart oppressed — 

To ease the mind with sorrow fraught, 

And give the weary spirit rest.” 

HAVE deviated slightly from the 
beaten path of my story, to relate 
the foregoing, thinking an incident 
connected with even the home of our little 
heroine of interest to our readers — for Se- 
viere Place had been Marie Lafourche’s home 
since she was three years of age, previous 
to which tirhe she left France with her 
parents and an only brother, who was many 
years her senior. The voyage was a long, 
tempestuous one, and proved too severe for 
the delicate constitutions of both Monsieur 
and Madame Lafourche, and long before the 
vessel arrived at New Orleans, they were 
buried in the ocean. Thus was Louis a 
mere boy, left far from home - and friends, 
with his baby sister. Immediately upon his 



mahie’s mistake. 


27 


arrival in New Orleans, he went to his 
uncle’s in Texas, and placing his little sis- 
ter in the arms of his cousin Antoine, 'who 
was several years his senior, he begged his 
uncle and cousin to care for her as their 
own, until he was so situated that he could 
again undertake the guardianship of her. 
Louis Lafourche again returned to France. 
He did not visit America for several years, 
although all his property was there, under 
the supervision of his uncle. When he did 
finally visit his relatives, he found his little 
sister away at school, and his uncle’s fam- 
ily so loth to give her up, that Louis 
promised to let her remain permanently with 
them, and to have half of his father’s estate 
settled upon her, the latter part of which 
promise he had not, at the period of the 
commencement of our story, fulfilled, but 
his friends were expecting a visit from him 
soon, as he had been travelling through the 
Northern States for the past year or two. 

Monsieur Lafourche, the uncle of Marie, 
had but two children of his own, Antoine 


28 


marie’s mistake. 


and Camille, the latter a beautiful, accom- 
plished woman, but whose rather prim, 
precise ways w’ere a source of constant 
annoyance to Marie. Antoine, on the con- 
trary, rather encouraged, than sought to 
check his cousin in her hoydenish propen- 
sities, and hence he very frequently incurred 
his sister’s displeasure for so doing. Marie’s 
aunt and uncle were too much attached to 
the frank, generous, high-spirited little hoy- 
den, to try to correct her for what they 
regarded as a mere trifle. She was a very 
little too wild, and rude, perhaps, but then 
she would get over those faults when she 
was older, they said ; so at fourteen we find 
Marie as wild and untameable as a young 
Comanche Indian ; and that, top, only one 
year before her admittance into society as a 
young lady. The honorable graduate of one 
of the best female colleges in the South, 
the niece of one of the wealthiest and 
proudest planters in the South, and heiress 
in prospective herself of a fortune a princess 
might envy. Surely, Marie will learn to 


marie’s mistake. 


29 


appreciate the flattery, the adulations a false- 
hearted, deceitful, mercenary world is ever 
ready to lavish upon fortune’s favorites. 
Surely, Marie Lafourche will learn the les- 
son all women must and do learn, — that 
the only pleasure that women can ever know, 
that bears even a semblance to the myth, 
Happiness, is derived from the flattery, the 
empty adulations of society, the false pro- 
fessions of friendship, which the young and 
inexperienced debutante thinks and receives 
as truth; all the lies the butterflies of 
society choose to breathe into her oftimes 
too willing ear. And when she gives her 
heart’s true love and devotion to some man 
whom she is deceived into thinking makes 
her a like return, but who has (as is fre- 
quently the case) married her for wealth, 
or because her family are influential and can 
further advance him in some selfish purpose, 
or from some other equally selfish motive, 
married a pure, noble woman, only as a 
return for the love and devotion of her 
life, to trample that love under foot, to traus- 


30 


marie’s mistake. 


form her, a noble, pure, truthful woman, 
into a lying, deceitful, frivolous, butterfly 
of fashion, or equally as bad, into a bitter, 
disappointed, hopeless misanthrope. Truly 
woman’s happiest days are those which com- 
mence with her debut into society, and end 
all too soon after her marriage. From the 
moment she is aroused from the deceptive 
dream, her only pleasure must be found in 
the automaton-like discharge of a continual 
round of duties, her whole life, in flict, must 
be offered upon the altar of a husband’s 
selfish pleasure, and as a compensation, to 
receive her services when approved of with 
indifference, and when they happen to be 
displeasing, not to fail to censure. If the 
brightness of thy crown accords with the 
weight of thy cross, oh, woman, it will be 
brilliant indeed ! But we digress too inucli 
from our story ; we are not writing a lec- 
ture upon the uses and abuses of life, soci- 
ety, etc., so we will resume the broken 
thread of our story. 

Captain Jean Luzerne, the friend of An- 


marie’s mistake. 


31 


toilie, whom we introduced to the reader 
at the beginning of our story, was an old 
schoolmate of his, but very far from being 
his equal in point of principle. Had Antoine 
had the least conception of what Captain 
Luzerne really was at heart, he would 
sooner have placed a venomous serpent in 
Marie’s path than to have exposed her to 
the fascinations of an unprincipled man of 
the world. 

For many years Captain Luzerne had com- 
manded a vessel, and consequently was a 
sea captain. lie had in the first place, 
however, squandered the greater part of his 
father’s property, so that the remainder of 
jM. Luzerne’s days must be passed in almost 
poverty. Captain Luzerne had only gone to 
sea, therefore, as a last resort, and would 
not have scrilpled at anything by which he 
could have retrieved his fallen fortunes. 
The next morning after his arrival at Sevicre 
Place, and long before his unsuspicious 
friend had arisen. Captain Luzerne, after 
taking even more than usual pains with his 
toilet, went forth for a walk. 


32 


marie’s mistake. 


” Well,” soliloquized he, the fate that 
brought me here certainly was propitious. 
That girl must and shall be my wife. 

Why, I would marry her for her expecta- 
tions from this princely property.’ That old 
maid, Camille, will not live a year, and as 
Antoine is not, and most likely will never 
be married, I think Mademoiselle Marie’s 
husband would have a very fair prospect of 
being master of Seyiere Place at no very 
distant day. This, with her other expectations, 
renders her too rich a prize to be lightly 

passed by. Antoine speaks of her entering 
society next year. She never enters society 
until she is my- wife. Yes, I need her 
money, and she shall be my wife ; and, 

then, too, what a pleasure to crush her 
spirit — the little termagant ! 

” Hello, Captain ! Dreaming, or walking 
in your sleep, or what is the matter? 

Why, if my eyes and thoughts had not 
have had a little more conneetion with 
what I was actually doing than your ow i 
appear to have, I should have ridden quite 


marie’s mistake. 


33 


over before I observed you. Did steal a 
march on you about that ride, did I not?” 
and with a merry laug^, Marie dashed past 
Captain Luzerne, mounted upon his horse, 
the noble animal seemingly conscious of his 
frail burden, went along as gently as the_, 
old grey of the previous evening possibly 
could. Captain Luzerne followed Marie, and 
Jim went into the barn-yard. 

”Why, Mademoiselle, you little gypsy, 
''how did you succeed in eluding me thus?” 

"Well, you see I concluded last night I 
did not want you with me ' no how,’ as 
Aunt Eda would say; therefore, I went to 
Uncle Jim’s cabin, told him to get up 
earlier than usual, put a l^ridle on your 
horse (which I could do myself, if I was a 
little taller, and the horse w^ould not hold 
liis head so high) and I would go with 
him to take the cattle back to the fields ; 
so this morning before your eyes were open, 

I was off with him.” 

► "Well, I will acknowledge myself beaten 

a 




34 


marie’s mistake. 


for once, but promise to ride with me this 
evening? ” 

cannot promise. Now, you see, ’it is 
just as the notion fakes me, and if I were 
to promise now I might change my mind 
before evening; I never like to be tied down 
by promises. You see, I always like the 
impulses of my heart at the moment of 
action to guide me in all I do ; therefore, 
I do not like to make promises, and seldom 
do.” 

"But, Mademoiselle, the preachers tell us, 

' the human heart is desperately wicked ; ’ 
therefore, we can never hope for perfection 
while we acknowledge no better criterion 
by which to actuate our conduct than merely 
the impulses of the heart, which, nine times 
out of ten, may be wrong.” 

" That is all nonsense. Monsieur Captain ; 
my plan is to keep the heart true, pure as 
possible in the sight of God, to make that 
the study of our lives. And tell me, is 
not the impulse of a pure heart a better, 
truer guide to right than the dictates of a 


marie’s mistake. 


35 


calmer, colder reason? I think so. Were 
some of the greatest wrongs, the greatest 
villanies that were ever perpetrated, the 
result of calm, deliberate reason, or the bent 
of some impulses of the heart, as immedi- 
ately acted upon ? I know the heart conceives 
those wicked things, but the calmer reason 
(that the world advocates, as our best guide 
through life) brings by its aid those 
villanies to a more fiendish perfection. The 
impulses of the heart may lead us into small 
wrongs, but I contend reason often leads us 
into great ones. But we are getting too 
serious, entirely, and yonder comes my 
shadow, otherwise mammy Eda; now for a 
"lecture on propriety. Do you not pity me. 
Captain?” laughingly exclaimed Marie, as old 
Eda entered the yard, who being very fleshy, 
found keeping in the wake of her young 
mistress was no easy task. 

"'Lookee, hur. Miss Marie,” exclaimed the 
old woman, "don’t you knew its most time 
fur breakfast? Dar you is, your bar not 
fixed, and dem old clothes on. Why, you 


36 


iviarie’s mistake. 


looks mo’ like some po’ white gal dan a 
young lady ob quality. How often ole 
mammy have fur to tell you dat de quality 
ladies don’t act dis way? Come to de house 
dis minit, chile. Dar’s Massa Tonie cornin’, 
he will ’tain de geraman till I fixes you 
little mo’ spectable.” And very unwillingly 
Marie accompanied the old woman, leaving 
the Captain to explain to Antoine how she 
had checkmated him. 

I tell you, mammy, it is no use to 
change my dress, for I am going hunting 
after breakfast with Tonie, and I am sure 
to tear my dress before I get back. If you 
will just let me alone this once I will 
promise to behave myself this evening — be 
as prim and dignified as my cousin Camille 
j^onder in the parlor window. Hello ! there 
is uncle. Good-by, mammy, I must go to 
him. You shall have the pleasure of fixing 
my toilet this evening,” and before poor Eda 
could prevent her, Marie had made her 
escape and rushed into the parlor. 

^^Good morning. Miss Fuss and Feathers, 


marie's mistake. 


37 


ain’t you glad to see me? You should be, 
at any rate, for I have been courting that 
old fellow down yonder in the stable-yard, 
just as well as I can for you, and to 
reward me for my disinterested kindness, 
please entertain him this forenoon, while I 
go hunting with Tonie, that is a dear, 
good, cousin, and I promise you to be so 
dignified this whole afternoon ; I won’t even 
go with Uncle .Jim after the cattle, and 
that, you know, is a terrible sacrifice for 
me to make, Camille ; so please promise.” 

” Marie, you surely have not been having 
any of your impertinent talk with Captain 
Luzerne? I do wish you would ever learn 
to be like other people, and less like a 
savage, in some respects. Why, your 
manners are worse than those of the little 
negroes.” *• 

" There, that will do, ma chere cousin, 
it is no use to talk to me, but please, 
will you not promise to keep the Captain 
here today while I go hunting with Tonie, 
for I will not go if he does? Please, 
Camillej promise me this one request.” 


38 


marie’s mistake. 


”Well, Marie, irresistable, as well as in- 
corrigible, I suppose I must promise ; but, 
really, my dear Marie, I do hope this will 
be the last time you go with Antoine, for 
otherwise, I shall rejoice when the time 
comes for you to return to school. You 
are getting too large to be romping about 
the woods ; so remember, this must be the 
last time you go with Antoine.” 

" Well, Camille, I do not know that I 
shall be sorry when the time does come for 
me to return to school; for that man will 
remain, and I assure you my pleasure went 
with his coming. I cannot account for the 
feeling ; but that man exerts a strange 
influence over me. I do not like him. On 
the contrary, there is something repelling 
about him ; yet he seems to control me by 
,a species of fascination anything but agree- 
able to me.” 

Why, Marie, how silly you talk ! An- 
toine has long known Captain Luzerne. Pie 
belongs to one of the oldest and best 
families of New Orleans.” 


burie’s mistake. 


39 


''Yet that fact does not of itself con- 
stitute him a gentleman.’’ 

" Marie, you must not speak in this 
manner of one who has been received a 
welcome guest in our house by my brother. 
Do you, for an instant, think Antoine 
would have received Captain Luzerne here 
and introduced him to us, if he had not 
known him to be a perfect gentleman?” 

" Cousin Tonie is very liable to be de- 
ceived. I think when a person strives to 
keep heart and conscience pure in the sight 
of God, it is but natural to suppose that 
such a spirit coming in contact with one 
not equally pure, would produce this strange 
repulsion.” 

"Marie, you must positively quit encour- 
aging all those strange fincies of yours ; 
they will certainly make you unhappy for 
life. It is all folly to expect perfection in' 
this world. Dream not, hope not to find 
it. If you still persist in your foolish dream 
you will never know peace. Your life will 
be one long existence of vain longings for 


40 


slvrie’s mistake . 


something you will never find, and in the 
end it will be one of bitter disappointment. 
I acknowledge the real pleasure one of your 
romantic organization experiences in life far 
exceeds that realized by more worldly natures. 
Yet even this advantage, in the^ possession 
of a sensitive organization, is more than 
counterbalanced by the acute sufiering they 
must endure ; for in the same degree that 
they feel the joys of life, so do they 
suffer from its disappointments and its cares. 
Would that I could, dear Marie, persuade 
you to look upon life in a more worldly 
point of view. Believe me, by so doing, 
you would almost insure your happiness for 
life ; while, by nourishing and harboring 
your present views, you almost insure your 
future misery. I sometimes almost tremble 
for you. If you grow up to womanhood as 
you now are, your life will be one of con- 
stant sufiering.” 

"There, there, cousin! Please do not go 
to prophesying evil now for me. My future 
must, yes, shall, be bright and glorious. 


MARIE^ MISTAKE. 41 

Why, the very reflection of the past would 
make it so ! My life has been far too happy 
to augur ill for the future. But I must go 
now and get my breakfast, and then, ho, 
for a ramble in the glorious old woods of 
Seviere Place ! Come, Camille, and now 
please do not forget to keep that dark spirit 
a close prisoner -this forenoon. I am so 
fearful of his joining us in our hunting 
expedition.” « 

” I will try to gratify you, Marie ; but 
fear my powers of attraction will not be 
suflacient to deter him from joining your 
party if you are gone too long,” replied 
Camille, as she followed her to the break- 
fiist table. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ Heart on her lip and soul within her eyes, 

Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.” 

the large old-fashioned dining- 
room, the remainder of the family 
were already assembled, with Capt. 
Luzerne. On the entrance of Mademoiselle 
Lafourche and Marie, the Captain arose from 
the table to offer chairs to them. Marie 
haughtily refused his offer, saying : 

” Thank you. Captain; that is the servants* 
business — they will attend to me.” 

Marie, what is the matter with you this 
morning ? Be yourself, little one ! I never 
knew you to be rude to any person before, 
especiallj^ a guest of ours,” exclaimed Marie’s 
uncle, looking at her more in surprise than 
anger. 

Marie saw in a moment that by her 
apparent rudeness she had offended M. 
Lafourche. 

” Pardon me. Captain ; forgive me, dear 
uncle. I did not intend to be rude to any 
one;” and the tears started in poor Marie’s 
eyes. 



mapje’s mistake. 


43 


Thus was fate, a seemingly uncontrollable 
fate, continually, step by step, weaving a 
net around poor Marie Lafourche, from which 
there was no escape. Had her whole family 
approved of, and been coadjutors with Cap- 
tain Luzerne in his fiendish, dishonorable 
designs, they could not have been more able 
assistants than their ignorance of his true 
character and his plans now made them. 
Antoine, Mile. Camille, Madame and Mon- 
sieur Lafourche all had implicit faith in him. 
How could a young, inexperienced girl do 
otherwise than trust him too? She would, 
during his entire visit, be ever thus forced 
to receive his attentions, however disagreea- 
ble they were to her. 

Tonie, dear Tonie, I want to speak to 
you just one moment,” exclaimed Marie, as 
they were leaving the breakfast-room. 

" What is it you wish, my gypsy queen? 
I am at your service,” replied Antoine, 
stepping back into the dining-room. 

" Why, Tonie, I do not wgnt you to ask 
Captain Luzerne to go Avith us this morning, 


44 


marie’s mistake. 


when we go hunting. Somehow, I feel just 
like this will be the last time I would ever 
get to go with you, and I want us to go 
alone. I do not wish him to go with us, 
and if he does I will not go,” exclaimed 
Marie, in her usual impulsive, passionate 
manner. 

” Why, Marie, it would be very rude in 
me to leave Captain Luzerne and go away 
with you, to be gone possibly half the day. 
You would not wish me to be guilty of 
impoliteness toward a guest, and an old 
friend, too, merely to gratify a caprice of 
yours, would you, darling?” 

” No, Tonie, you know I would not, but 
indeed this is not a mere whim ; I have a 
very good reason for my request ; and Ca- 
mille has promised to remain in the parlor 
and entertain Captain Luzerne, so you see 
he will not be inconsolable for the loss of 
our society, while the void is so agreeably 
filled by my - accomplished cousin. Please, 
dear Tonie, promise me you will not ask 
him to go with us, just this once. I prom- 


iv^rie's mistake. 


45 


ise you I will not repeat the request again 
during his visit,” and unable to endure even 
the prospect of disappointment in a cherished 
wish, poor Marie burst into tears. 

Antoine was not proof against her tears, 
and, indeed, in this he was no exception to 
the majority of his sex, for what man is 
proof against this, womai^’s most effectual 
weapon ? 

Notwithstanding my anxiety to sustain the 
credit for dignity and strength of character 
for the lords of creation, truth impels me 
to say — not one. 

" There, do not cry, I suppose I must 
sacrifice my ideas of politeness upon the 
altar of my little gypsy’s tears. So get 
ready, little one, while I find the Captain 
and get him to excuse my absence, and 
ensure him the far more agreeable company 
of my sister, and I doubt not he will 
think so.” 

Marie quickly dried her t(^s and ran 
into the hall, and taking from the hat-stand 
a large straw hat, tied it on and pronounced 


46 


makie’s mistake. 


herself ready, when Antoine appeared with 
gun and game-bag. 

" Well, little girl, we will start without 
further delay. So you were anxious to go 
with me alone today, and now tell me why ? ” 
asked Tonie, as he ran down the steps lead- 
ing from the hall door to the gravel walk. 

” Now, Monsieiii’ Tonie, I do not want to 
be serious today, but as you have so kindly 
yielded to my wishes, I will answer your 
question. You see I must return to school 
next week, and perhaps I shall never get 
an opportunity of going with you again, 
for Camille does not approve of my going 
with you hunting, she thinks it makes me 
wild and rude, and prevents me being like 
other people ; so I promised her if she 
would entertain your friend and permit me 
to go with you this morning, I would never 
go again, and I have made another terrible 
sacrifice. I promised mammy to allow her 
to make n^ toilet in the most approved 
fashion, and not to laugh or speak with 
any spirit, but to put on a languid, fashion- 


marie’s mistake. 47 

able air, and every time a person speaks 
to me to have an eternal simper (a so-called 
fashionable smile) ready as an answer; and 
to spend the afternoon and evening in the 
parlor with my hands crossed in my lap, 
listening to Monsieur Captain’s string of 
small talk instead of going with Uncle Jim 
after the cattle. 

^'This is what Mademoiselle Camille and 
mammy calls being like other people.” 

*'Now I hope, dear Tonie, you uiKterstaud 
at what a terrible price I have bought this 
morning’s pleasure,” and Marie ran laughing 
up the pathway that led to the woods. 

Like other people ! God forbid she should 
ever be like some I know,” murmured An- 
toine ; " heartless, treacherous, worldly ! Oh, 
Camille, I did not think you, of all others, 
would attempt so soon to instil the miser- 
able lesson in that pure young heart, that 
our bitter experience h^s taught us. Oh, 
Camille, it was cruel in you ! Why thus 
seek to darken her young life? She will 
suffer less when the storm actually bursts 


48 


marie’s mistake. 


upon her, than to live on in moody antici- 
pation of evils which, had it not been for 
you, she might never have known existed. 
That treachery and deceit may beset her 
pathway through life, that to successfully 
battle with the world we must become like 
it, and part and parcel of it, were the^ last 
lessons I should have taught her. And then 
she may never know sorrow or suffering to 
any extent; why render her unhappy now? 
For the present, at least, and future, too, 
while under my care, she shall never know 
care or sorrow that I can ward off. Camille, 
pride has blasted your happiness, and will 
be the true cause of your filling an early 
grave. I, perhaps, of all your friends, alone 
knew when Eugene De Estepe went from 
our house a discarded lover, that it was 
the dictate of pride and not your heart that 
sent him away. But, poor Camille, you 
reckoned, too much that time upon the 
strength of your pride, as your pale cheek 
and faltering step bear but too painful wit- 
ness. But still not content with renderiiif? 


jiauie’s mistake. 


49 


up your own life upon pride’s altar — ^^no; 
that was not enough — insatiate pride thirsted 
for still more victims, and my own happi- 
ness must be the next sacrifice. For by 
tears and entreaties you wrung from me the 
promise to give up all idea of ever making 
Louise Hurberte my wife, because she was 
only a poor music teacher. You tried to 
induce me, instead, to wed that vain, haughty 
Pauline Koberte. In this, thank God, your 
powers of persuasion failed to accomplish 
their purpose, for I would sooner espouse 
the fiend of darkness than that heartless, 
selfish woman of the world, who would wed 
me because two fortunes are better than 
one, and I, perhaps, am more eligible than 
the generality of those by whom she is 
surrounded. You shall not crush my last 
remnant of hope for happiness, by convert- 
ing my darling Marie into a soulless, heartless 
woman of the world.” 

"•Antoine, wh}'’ do you not talk to me?”- 
complained Marie; "here I have been trudg- 
ing along without you saying a word for 


4 


50 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


the last half hour. You will have plenty 
of opportunities for being silent when I am 
gone ; so please talk to me,” Marie exclaimed, 
out of all patience, waiting for Antoine to 
recover from his fit of abstraction. 

"What IS it — what did you say, Marie? 
I was thinking, studying so .deeply, that I 
did not hear you,” replied Antoine, arousing 
himself from his painful reverie. 

*'Why, I say I want to be very happy 
today, for I wish always to look back upon 
this as one of the happiest days of my life, 
and here you go moping along; why, I 
might just as well have brought Victor, that 
great old dog of yours, for all the company 
you are.” 

do believe you have been half asleep 
ever since we left the house. But look, 
Antoine, can we ever forget this scene? 
Beautiful Seviere Place, my dear, happy 
home,” cried Marie, as she stood upon the 
summit of a hill, where, far as the eye could 
reach, she could behold the broad lands of 
Seviere Place. It was the season for pick- 


marie’s mistake. 


51 


ing cotton, and hundreds *of slaves were 
busily at work picking the snowy balls. 
Every now and then, a shout of careless, 
happy laughter rang out from among them, 
as wontedly they performed their daily task, 
in happy ignorance of the joys of ''freedom” 
and " suffrage,” which only awaited them, 
" How lovely dear old Seviere Place is 1 I 
wish I was confident I could spend my life 
here, and I would be happy. . But before I 
come home again from school, you will 
marry some cross old thing; and you will 
live at Seivere Place ; but. Monsieur An- 
toine, I give you fair warning, if you do, 
" I will marry Fred Welber, that ugly old 
bachelor, whose wig I pulled off when I was 
a little girl.” ^ 

" What is that, Marie, about pulling off 
Fred Welber’s wig? Do you suppose he will 
forgive you for that?” asked Tonie. 

"Oh, yes, he has long since forgotten it. 
You see it was when I was a very little 
girl, I heard Camille talking about wigs. 
' Wigs, what are they ? ’ I asked. Camille 


52 


marie’s mistake. 


told me Fred lYelber wore one, and a great 
many people who did not have sufficient 
hair. From that moment, I determined to 
see for myself, and so the first time that 
Fred came, he commenced teasing me as 
usual. 'You had better let me alone,’ I said 
to him several times, but to no purpose, 
^t last, getting a good opportunity, I made 
a dash for his beautiful curly hair, and was 
only too successful, for the whole apparatus 
came off in my hands, leaving him perfectly 
barefoot on top of his head. There were 
several young ladies in the parlor, and Fred- 
die’s mortification can be better imagined 
than described. But the ladies went into the 
back parlor while Fred adjusted his head 
covering, and ^mu may be sure it was a 
long time before he attempted another romp 
with me. But he and I are very good 
friends now, and Avhen I go there to see 
him and his mother, were I Eugenie of 
France, I could not be a more honored or 
welcome guest. So you see Freddie does 
not bear me any malice for that rude act 
of my childhood.” 


CHAPTER V. 

“ Better thy heart-strings should play 
Their funeral dirge to the grave ; ' 

Better that thou should’st lay 

Where willow and cypre|s wave.” 

could narrate many iucidentb 
ntle reader, connected with the 
e . of our young heroine, *but it 
would render our story too long and tedious 
for the most patient of you; therefore we 
will omit relating any more of her adven- 
tures of the week that preceded her return 
to school. 

Early one morning, about one week after 
the occurrence of the last chapter. Captain 
Luzerne and Marie left Seviere Place for 
New Orleans, the Captain having volunteered 
his services to Monsieur Lafourche to escort 
our heroine back to school. 
i Very unwillingly Marie accepted his offer, 
for she had not yet overcome her repug- 
nance to being in his society. Many were 
the sad hearts Marie left at Seviere Place 
that morning, for white and black of the 
household would sadly miss the bright spirit 



54 


MAj?IE’s MISTAKE. 


ever ready with a kind word for all; and 
especially Antoine and his father would for 
many days scarcely know what to do with- 
out her. But, t)h, had they but known i;hat 
never more would their little darling behold 
Seviere Place, what anguish would have 
wrung their even now sad hearts ! Oh, how 
inexpressibly thankful should we be that a 
kind and merciful Providence has so ordained 
it, that we cannot rend the misty veil of 
futurity, and gain from the book of fate a 
foreknowledge of coming events ! How then 
would imagination magnify the ills of life 
until life itself became unendurable, and 
the lists of suicides would be more than 
doubly trebled ! As it is we travel along 
in the journey of life — the storms of care, 
trouble, and human agony burst suddenly 
upon us ; but because foreknowledge has not 
gifted imagination with the power of magni- 
fying and exaggerating the^evils and misery of 
the coming tempest, we are enabled to endure 
its fury; and presently the bright sunshine 
of prosperity and happiness again illumines 
our pathway. 


marie’s mistake. 


55 


So it was with the family at Seviere 
Place. Could they have peered into the 
untrodden paths of futurity, and beheld the 
precipice upon which their beloved Marie 
was even now standing, they migli^ possil)ly 
have rescued her from a lifetime of sorrow. 
But a strange, mysterious Providence, whose 
motives and decrees are so wisely ordained 
as to be above the comprehension of human 
knowledge, so willed it that our little hero- 
ine should -tread the thorny path of 
adversity ; therefore the breakers were con- 
cealed by the smooth waters until the frail 
bark should be dashed upon them. But if 
the children of earth would only seek 
resignation to their Father’s will, their lives 
would establish the truth of the fulfilment 
of the promise, " as thy day so shall thy 
strength ever be.” 

But for the j)resent we will leave the 
family at Seviere Place to seek oblivion of 
their sorrow in the discharge of the daily 
cares and duties incident to plantation life, 
while we go with our voyagers. 


56 


marie’ § MISTAKE. 


I have promised myself much pleasure 
from your company in this journey,” Capt. 
Luzerne said to Marie, as they walked back 
and forth upon the deck of the vessel 
which bore them from Galveston to New 
Orleans. 

”1- am very sorry then for it, because 
you will most assuredly be disappointed, for 
I do not intend to come on deck any more 
until we arrive at New Orleans. You know 
you are to come for me at the commence- 
ment of the Christmas holidays and take me 
to Seviere Place. Perhaps by that time I 
may like you better, or at least, well enough 
to endure your society, which latter is not 
the case now. Good-by, Captain, you will 
not see me any more until we arrive at 
our journey’s end, for I shall order my 
meals to be brought to my room,” replied 
Marie, and without further ceremony she 
left the Captain and retired to her state- 
room. 

"That girl will thwart all my plans yet, 
if ^ I’m not careful; but if I ever do get 


marie’s mistake. 


57 


her in my power, she will repent the many 
insults I have had to endure from her during 
the past week. Yes, I am resolved upon 
one thing more — I will not leave New Orleans 
until Christmas ; the ship will be ready for 
sea but very little before that time, and I 
can very easily delay her departure until I 
have my bonnie bird securely caged. My 
bringing her to school will gain me admit- 
tance at any time to see her, and of course 
the Superior will readily grant me permis- 
sion to sometimes take her to ride, and to 
places of amusement, as this is her last 
year at school. And proud as my 3'oung 
lady is, and however much Mademoiselle 
may dislike me, the dull, monotonous round 
of school duty is too galling upon her high 
spirits for her not to gladly embrace every 
opportunity of relaxation from them. By 
unwearied attentions to her I will win her 
confidence, and then, in some unguarded 
hour, to persuade her to marry me will not 
be difficult. I almost shrink, sometimes, 
from the Muss’ that will be made about my 


58 


marie’s mistake. 


stealing old Lafourche’s niece, and wish that 
trouble well over; but that does not deter 
me from my purpose, for her money I must 
have, and there is no hope of my getting 
it by fair means, for however well they may 
regard me as a friend, I do not approximate 
perfection sufficiently near to suit Antoine’s 
ideas for a husband for this idolized Marie. 
I am almost fearful of putting off this 
business even until Christmas ; but one thing 
is certain, Lafourche family will never see 
her again until she is my wife. 

" I do not know what to do with my 
bird after I get her. I suppose I could 
take her and leave her with the 'governor’ 
(for that was the term the Captain invari- 
ably made use of in speaking of his father) ; 
but then he would pet and spoil her, until 
she would be ten times more unmanageable 
than she now is, and that would not do. 
Well, I suppose I had better secure my 
bird before I form any plans for her future 
cage ; but I think the ship would be the 
best school of discipline for unmanageable 


jviarie’s mistake. 


59 


spirits like hers. I must not, however, keep 
her there long, because she might find out 
my relations with Julie De Bourge, and that 
I do not wish, for although I do not love 
my intended wife, I know she is pure and 
innocent, and wicked as I am, I do not 
wish her to know more of the sin and 
wickedness going on in the world than I 
cannot prevent. 

” I wish she were not quite so pretty and 
interesting. She will win the hearts of the 
crew, and that will interfere with the course 
of discipline I have planned for her especial 
benefit. But time enough yet for those 
things ; the question now of most import- 
ance is, will it be possible to persuade the 
little vixen on deck or into the cabin again 
now — during this voyage is my best time. 
Well, I will make the trial in the morning, 
at any rate,” and leaving the deck, the Cap- 
tain sought his room. 

We will, for a moment, take the liberty 
of intruding upon poor Marie, who upon 
entering her room, had thrown ^herself upon 


60 


marie’s mistake. 


her bed to shed the first bitter tears of her 
life. She was unhappy, she knew not wh}r. 
Tell me not, gentle reader, that coming 
events do not cast their shadows before 
them. Already was Marie Lafourche in the 
shadow of coming years of sorrow, of bitter 
disappointments, of vain regrets. Already 
was she standing upon the very threshold 
of a lifetime of misery and trouble. 

Why, oh, why, had fate marked out such a 
terrible future for one so little fitted by 
nature and experience to endure it? 

That question could only be answered by 
Him who marks out the destinies of earth’s 
^diildren, and which they must fulfil. Smile, 
oh, skeptic, if you will ; but if this is not 
true, if there is not an uncontrollable fate 
from which there is no escape, not even by 
the hand of death, why did not something 
snatch poor Marie from the terrible destiny 
awaiting her ? Why did not some angel warn 
her relatives, and whisper in her ear that 
she was in the foils of a serpent, and to 
escape before it was too late. Because her 


marie’s mistake. 


61 


destiny was sealed, her path in life marked 
out, and strength wTll be given her to endure. 

" Oh, Touie ! ” she exclaimed, ” why did 
you send me with that man? Why did 
you not come yourself? I know I shall 
never see you again ; my very senses seem 
paralyzed. Something seems to hasten me 
along, and I feel just like I was in the 
shadow of some terrible trouble, from which 
.there was no escape. Oh, beloved cousin, 
you Jbave warded off every trouble and care 
from my pathway all my life, and can you 
not now save me from what I feel to be 
an impending evil? Oh, darling Antoine, 
your past love and devotion will only have 
the effect of rendering me unfit to bear any 
future misery or trouble. Was it not mis- 
taken kindness that has thus far plucked all 
the thorns from my pathway, and left me 
only the roses to walk upon? Is it- right 
that I should only drink of the cup of 
happiness, joy and love, while many, but 
very little my seniors, have drained the cup 
of woe ? No, no ; I will not yiold^ to this 


62 


marie’s mistake. 


weakness, this cowardice. All I ask is, give 
me strength, oh, God, to perform my duty 
to Thee — to fulfil my destiny in such a 
manner as to cast no reproach upon my 
family; and above all, oh. Heavenly Father, 
grant that I may ever be an honor and a 
credit to the holy name of woman, and 
with a brave heart and patient resignation 
I will meet the future, whatever it may 
have ill store for me. But one thing I am 
resolved upon ; no act of mine shalji ever 
sully the proud name of Lafourche.” And 
wearied with the contending emotions which 
had fairly shaken her slight form, Marie soon 
sank into a sweet sleep, the like of which 
could never visit the pillow of him who was 
meditating a foul wrong against that innocent 
being. 

Oh, Antoine, why did you trust that 
innocent child to the care of one whom you 
only judged by the promptings of your own 
noble, generous heart to be true and honor- 
able? Why did not something warn you of 
the error you were committing in placing 
her at his mercy? 


CHAPTER VI; 

“ M7 cup of sorrow doth o’erflow, 

While traveling o’er this dreary road ; 

Distress attends where’er I go, 

While struggling ’neath this heavy load. 

Bereft of fortune, friends and home. 

And all that others prize as dear,. 

My fate, perchance, as thus I roam, 

May draw a sympathetic tear.”, 

^ will pass over the few months 
that intervened between the time 
of Marie’s return to school and 
the following Christmas, when she was to 
return to Seviere Place to spend the holidays. 
During this time Captain Luzerne had 
remained, as he had proposed, in New 
Orleans, and had been unremitting in his 
attentions to his intended victim. 

Although, gentle reader, we would like 
to paint our little heroine a paragon of 
womanly perfection, yet Marie possessed 
that curse of our sex — faith in man. She' 
was too young, her experience had been 
such that she had not yet been aroused 
from the delusive dream which wrecks the 
happiness of nine-tenths of the women ; 



64 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


and the polished man of the world had 
been only too successful in gaining the con- 
fidence, if not the heart, of that poor, silly 
girl. From time immemorial either inordi- 
nate vanity or some species of madness 
has "induced woman to confide in man’s pro- 
fessions of love, constancy, fidelity, and in 
more than half the instances where she has 
done so has that confidence been betrayed. 
We do not censure man for this, it is his 
nature to be inconstant ; but we do censure 
woman for the vanity, the folly that leads 
her to dream she possesses the power to 
retain the love she is but momentarily the 
object of. Woman, vain fool ! Will she 
never learn to crush that yearning out of 
her heart for the passionate, devoted love 
which she gives? Woman, if you would be 
happy, commence in early youth to crush 
lhat longing for affection from your heart. 
When the proper time ‘ comes, you may 
meet a man whom the world calls honorable, 
whom you feel you can respect and honor. 
Marry him — be a dutiful, truthful, obedi- 


marie’s mistake. 


65 


ent wife. In return, if he treats you with 
kindness and respect, be satisfied ; ask no 
more. 

Once, in conversation with a friend (wdio 
was hioiself a model of an afifectionate hus- 
band), I was rather amused at a frank con- 
fession of his. "It is all folly,” said he, 
" to think, to dream, the love,^ or passion 
rather, which exists between lovers, will 
continue long after marriage. I cannot say 
as to how the case is with women, but 
with men, if I may judge the sex by my 
own experience, this love passion dies out, 
and is replaced by a calm, profound re- 
spect, and happy is the woman who retains 
even this.” 

But pardon, most patient reader, this di- 
gression, and return with me to the board- 
ing-school where w^e left Marie Lafourche. 

*'I tell you, girls, I do wish I were in 
Marie Lafourche’s shoes this Christmas. You 
have all succeeded in getting a peep at the 
handsome Captain, who has called so fre- 
quently to see Mademoiselle, since the sum- 
5 


66 ^marie’s mistake. 

mer holidays. Well, he is to escort her 
home this Christmas, and they do say if our 
Marie so will it, he will be her devoted 
slave for life; is it so, my beauty?” and 
the beautiful Creole girl caught Mafte, and 
prevented her leaving the school-room. 

''Josie de La Tour,” replied Marie, ” please 
let me go, and do not talk such nonsense 
to me ; you know it annoys me.” 

There, there, do not cry, Marie,” con- 
tinued /her tormentor; but really, any girl 
should feel proud of such a conquest, and 
that, too, before leaving school. I hope, 
dear Marie, you will not pass many winters 
in New Orleans, if you are always going to 
be so successful with the gentlemen, for I 
do not wish to be an old maid, and very 
unfortunately, I am neither a beauty nor an 
heiress, therefore I cannot hope to success- 
full}" compete with so terrible a rival ; so 
please, dear one, do be charitable and give 
me just one season in which to try my 
fortune in the market matrimonial. This is 
the only favor I ask, and you will see if I 


marie’s mistake. 


67 


do not make good use of my time ; ” and 
the gay, light-hearted girl turned to meet 
the reproving g\;ince of one of the sisters 
who had entered the room in time to hear 
the conclusion of poor Josie’s speech. 

Mademoiselle de La Tour, the Mother 
Superior would be most seriously offended 
did she hear of your making use of such 
language ; do not let me hear it, and this 
offence shall not be repeated to her. Here 
is a letter for Mademoiselle Lafourche.” 

Marie sprang forward and eagerly grasped 
the letter extended to her. It w^as from 
Antoine, and contained news for which she 
was totally unprepared. The letter we give 
verbatim : 

Seviere Place, Sept. 29, 185-. 

My Dearest Marie, — You will sympathize 
with me in my affliction, when I inform you 
that my poor sister is no more. She has 
for years been afflicted with heart disease. 
Last Sunday she received a letter from a 
friend of Eugene de Estepe’s, informing her 
of Eugene’s sudden death. 


68 


marie’s mistake. 


She was found some hours after in an 
almost lifeless condition ; the shock had been 

too severe for her delicate constitution. She 

♦ 

revived after the application of restoratives, 
and earnestly begged that I might be sent 
for. I went to her, when she entreated that 
I would give her the satisfaction of seeing 
me united in marriage to Louise Hubei*t, 
before she died. Louise was sent for and 

Father L united us in marriage. Camille 

did not live one hour after the ceremony 
was performed. Thus in one short hour my 
parents had one daughter taken from and 
another given them. To you who so well 
know Louise’s purity and goodness, I need 
not tell how happy I am ; yet my happi- 
ness is not without alloy when I think, 
had my sister lived, I might never have 
gained her consent to call Louise by the 
blessed name of wife. I have still other 
news for you. My cousin Louis, your 
brother, is married to a Northern lady, and 
he writes my father that his wife objects 
to coming South to live, and that you must 


marie’s mistake. 


69 


go there immediately, as you can better 
complete your education North. My father 
wrote to him entreating him to keep his 
promise of letting you remain permanently 
with us, but to no purpose, and I suppose 
you will have to go after visiting us during 
the Christmas holidays. It will be very 
hard to give you up, my darling, but my 
father thinks it best not to anger Louis by 
a refusal, as we are completely in his power 
in regard to *your property. You will be 
with us, so Captain Luzerne writes, ^ on 
Tuesday, so this letter will barely reach you 
before your departure for Seviere Place. 

Let not our affliction grieve you too much, 
my darling; it is the will of your Heavenly 
Father, we must submit. 

Come to us my birdie, for the last time ; 
but let not this make your visit gloomy. 
Come and cheer our sad hearts with your 
bright presence ; and then we will beg 
Louis to let you soon return to us again. 

God bless you, is the sincere prayer of 
Your devoted cousin, 

Antoine Lafourche. 


70 


marie’s mistake. 


Camille dead!” exclaimed Marie, and 
Antoine and Louis married I ” 

Dear Camille ! I will never see you 
again ; how I wish I could have asked your 
forgiveness for the many times I have given 
you pain by my wild, hoydenish conduct! 
Oh, Camille ! I will try to imitate you now ; 
I will never again do anything you would 
have disapproved of ; ” and long and bitterly 
the poor child wept over the death of Ca- 
mille Lafourche. But at length, she, for 
the first time, comprehended the remainder 
of the letter — that she must leave Seviere 
Place, perhaps forever. Leave Seviere Place ! 
when the hope of - living there all my life 
has buoyed me up all these years? No, no! 
I cannot leave dear old Seviere Place, the 
home of my happy childhood ! ” 

Overcome by the violence of her emotions, 
and the thought of leaving her old home, 
Marie threw herself down upon a sofa, and 
was again weeping violently, when a servant 
announced Captain Luzerne, who entered 
the room before Marie had risen from the sofa. 


marie’s mistake. 


71 


"What is the matter?” he asked, taking - 
a seat by her side. The sister, who usually 
remained in the room while the young ladies 
received company, considering her pres‘ence 
unnecessary, since Marie’s friends had con- 
sidered Captain Luzerne a suitable person 
with whom to entrust their young relative, 
withdrew. They were therefore left alone. 

Again, oh, fate ! I implore of you, tell 
me, wh}^ did you fail to warn Marie of 
the impending danger? Why did 3^ou not 
unmask that man, and thus rescue that poor 
child from a lifetime of sorrow? 

Marie Lafourche, child of destiny, cour- 
ao*e ! It is useless to shrink. The terrible 

O 

fiat has gone forth, and thou, with all other 
victims of an uncontrollable fxte, must meet 
and bear with fortitude its decrees, from 
which there is most assuredly no escape. 

" Tell me,” continued the Captain, ” I 
implore of you. Mademoiselle, what it is 
^that distresses you?” and at last Captain 
-Luzerne learned from the weeping girl that 
Camille was dead, and that she was to go 


72 


IVLiEIE’S MISTAKE. 


North to school, and was to leave Seviere 
Place, but from some unaccountable fatality, 
she failed to tell him of the only two events 
that would possibly have saved her from 
being the victim of a fortune hunter — the 
two marriages in her family. 

The Captain determined, if possible, to 
induce the unhappy girl to marry him that 
very day. 

Mademoiselle, tomorrow we leave this 
place for your uncle’s ; would you not like 
to take a ride? this, possibly, may be your last 
opportunity for 3^^ars of riding in New Orleans.” 

"Yes, Captain, take me anywhere, so that 
I can forget this great trouble. You are 
very kind, dear frieiid, to always think of 
giving me pleasure, and I have been very 
rude to you, I fear, but you will pardon 
me for the past, and I will strive to merit 
your kindness in the future,” replied ]\Iarie. 

" Do not speak of the past. Mademoiselle ; 
I, too, have done much to annoy you. But 
now we are wasting time in useless apolo- 
gies. I will return in half an hourf be 


marie’s mistake. 


73 


ready by that time ; and as the boat leaves 
early in the morning, perhaps it would be 
better to go to the hotel tonight after your 
ride, instead of returning here. Therefore, 
as your trunks are ready, I will see the 
Mother Superior, and have your baggage 
sent to the St. Charles ; so bid farewell to 
your schoolmates, and exchange vows of 
eternal fidelity while I am gone. Instead 
of half an hour, I will give you an hour ; 
so be ready and looking as pretty as pos- 
sible on my return ; ” and before Marie 
could offer any objections, if she would, the 
Captain was gone to make the arrangements 
he had proposed. But we will take the 
liberty of following him to the various places 
he will visit in that one short hour. First, 
he calls for a handsome carriage at the St. 
Charles ; next, engages a splendid suite of 
rooms there; then entering the carriage, ho 
drives to the clerk’s office and procures a 
marriage license; then calling on a priest, 
he invents some plausible excuse for a hasty 
marriage, and engages his services ; and lastly, 
drives back to the school for his victim. 


CHAPTEK VII. 


“ I have too deeply read mankind 

To be amused with friendship ; ’tis a name 
Invented merely to betray credulity ; 

’Tis intercourse of interest— not of souls.” 

ARIE had taken leave of her friends 
when Captain Luzerne returned, 
and was awaiting him in the par- 
lor ; the Mother Superior was with her. 
The feeling of awe (reverence) which her 
position had inspired in Marie’s heart toward 
the Superior, had kept her from confiding 
to her her fear that Captain Luzerne was 
unworthy the confidence of her relatives. 
Had she done this, even at the last moment, 
the Mother Superior would have refused 
to give her in charge of the Captain. But, 
unfortunately, she made no efibrt to break 
down the barrier of reserve between them, 
and Marie Lafourche went forth to meet 
the destiny awaiting her — a woman’s destiny 
— to devote her pure young heart to the 
interest of a brutal husband, w^ho never 
would appreciate the priceless jewel within 
his grasp — a woman’s first and only pure 
and holy love. 



marie’s mistake. 


75 


You must take good care of my little 
girl, and carry her safely to her friends,” 
the Mother Superior said to Captain Luzerne, 
as he left the parlor with Marie. 

Be assured I will, Madame ; had I not 
been considered very trustworthy, her friends 
would never have confided so priceless a 
jewel to my care;” and the man who, in 
so short a time, would prove false to every 
tie of friendship and honor, hastened the 
departure of his victim, whom he would not 
feel quite sure of until she was completely 
in his power. 

"I really regret leaving my old school. 
Captain ; I have been here so long it appears 
like my home. Oh, I wonder if the pleasure 
I shall find out in the world will compen- 
sate for the loss of the many dear friends 
I leave here ; and oh. Captain, will I ever 
be so happy again as I have been here?” 
Marie exclaimed as she gazed with tearful 
eyes at the old building which had been 
her home for so many years. 

" Come, Mademoiselle, the bright world 


76 


marie’s mistake. 


which awaits from without these gloomy 
walls has far more attractions in store for 
you. But come, if we delay very much 
longer here, we will not get to see a great 
deal of the old Crescent City,” replied 
Captain Luzerne, and hastily assisting Marie 
into the carriage, he took a seat by her 
side, and they were driven rapidly away. 

They were soon in view of the ship- 
landing, when Marie exclaimed : 

” Where are you taking me. Captain? We 
are near the ship-landing; you never brought 
me here before.” 

I did not, and for that very reason I 
have brought you here this evening,” replied 
the Captain. ” Do you see the large ship 
just opposite us?” continued he; ” if you 
would like to go aboard of it we will. It 
is considered one of the finest vessels that 
visit this port, and is commanded by your 
humble servant. Captain Jean Luzerne. 

Oh, yes,” exclaimed Marie, with some- 
thing of her old vivacity ; " I should like 
to go aboard, that is, if it will not incon- 
venience you too much to gratify me.” 


marie’s mistake. 


77 


’’ Nothing gives me more happiness than 
to be the means of giving you pleasure. 
Believe me it would be the greatest bless- 
ing I could ask of heaveu to have you 
always with me. But I fear that can never 
be. Ill a few days we part, ‘ perhaps to 
meet no more on earth. I to roam the 
briny deep until, perhaps, I find a grav^ 
beneath its waters. You will go to your 
brother in the far North, euter society, and 
will, no doubt, soon marry there, for 
beauty and intellect such as my little friend 
possesses, will not long remain unappreciated. 
Then you will forget the friend you met at 
Seviere Place ; but believe me, your image 
has not left me since we met there. I 
never had a sister. My mother died years 
ago, and with the exception of my ag^d 
father, I am all alone in the world. If I 
ever marry, my wife will be all the world 
to me ; having been all my life without love 
and sympathy, it will be doubly appreciated 
once it is mine. But come, let me assist 
you out of the carriage, and then you shall 


78 


marie’s mistake. 


see my home, the only one I care to claim 
in the wide world, and if it were shared 
by you I would not exchange it for the 
palace of an emperor.” 

”How beautiful!” exclaimed Marie, as she 
stood within the spacious cabin. do not 
blame you for your enthusiasm; if I were 
a man I should be a sailor.” 

So long as that is impossible, be a 
sailor’s wife, Marie ; be my wife. This 
vessel shall be your home, its commander 
your slave. All that lies in human power 
to make you happy shall be done. Be mine 
tonight, Marie ; we can be married this 
evening, and tomorrow you shall leave here 
for Seviere Place. Your cousin may be 
surprised at your hasty marriage, but he 
will not be displeased. I do not believe 
there is one living with whom he would 
sooner trust his little cousin than myself. 
Then you will not have to go North, you 
can be with your friends as often as you 
desire. Will you consent, my little darling, 
or will you refuse and be sent away to 


marie’s mistake. 


79 


the North, far from home and those who 
love you ? Does my little girl love me 
well enough to be my wife?” 

"Captain, I do not think I do, but I 
may in time learn to love you. I do not 
know what answer to give you. Antoine 
placed me in your care. He knows and 
loves you. If you think he will approve 
of my being your wife, if I can render 
your life happier, you have my consent,” 
replied Marie, too much excited and too 
unhappy to scarcely know what she was 
consenting to. 

Captain Luzerne almost carried the pale, 
trembling girl back to the carriage, and 
after giving orders to the driver, they were 
soon at the residence of the priest. In less 
than two hours after leaving school, Marie 
Lafourche forged the chains that would bind 
her to years of misery, to a lifetime of 
wretchedness. Yes, poor girl ! those bonds 
which to* many are flowery ones, will be to 
thee clanking chains. With the setting of 
the sun that evening, also set the sun of 


80 


maeie’s mistake. 


happiness for thee forever. The ceremony 
was scarcely over before Marie sank into a 
chair, exclaiming : 

” Oh, Captain ! I wish Antoine were here. 
I fear I have done wrong.’’ 

Before Captain Luzerne could reply or 
hasten their departure from the room, a 
young man entered from an adjoining apart- 
ment. He was a noble-looking man, and as 
poor Marie looked into the deep, earnest 
blue eyes, which expressed such sympathy 
for her, she could but wish she had been 
in his care instead of that of the dark, 
passionate man who stood beside her, and 
to whom she was bound for life. 

*Hs it possible, Jean Luzerne,” exclaimed 
the young man, '' that you have persuaded 
that child into a marriage with you, unknown 
to her friends ? ” 

do not permit any meddlesome Yankee 
to interfere in my business, so bewaro> 
Gerald Clifton,” angrily replied Captain 
Luzerne. 

I do not think, Captain Luzerne, that 


MAEIE’S mSTAKE. 


81 


my sympathy for that poor girl (whose 
every hope of happiness for life you have 
blasted by this marriage, and which led me 
to ask the question I did,) renders me 
deserving of the title of * meddlesome ; ’ and 
as to my being a ^ Yankee,^ the fact of 
my being born and brought up in New 
York City makes me no more a Yankee 
than yourself,’’ calmly replied the young 
stranger, his honest eyes expressing the 
contempt with which he regarded Luzerne. 

Captain Luzerne did not appear anxious 
to continue the conversation, but hurried 
his almost unconscious bride back to the 
carriage and drove rapidly in the direction 
of the hotel. Long years after, Marie’s 
meeting with the stranger would be recalled 
to her mind, and their next meeting would 
be under even more distressing circumstances 
than this one. Arrived at the hotel. Captain 
Luzerne consigned Marie to the care of a 
servant, and was just leaving the hotel when 
who should he encounter but Antoine and 

Louis Lafourche. 

6 


82 


marie’s mistake. 


Captain Luzerne, the very one we have 
been searching almost every street in the 
old Crescent City for, the last three hours ! 
Where is Marie, Captain? The Superior 
told us she left the school during the afteiv 
noon in your care, and we supposed we 
should find you both here,” exclaimed 
Antoine. 

"We have just returned,” replied Captain 
Luzerne, ’'from a ride. Your cousin just 
received your letter today, and I found her, 
on calling at her school, in such distress 
at the news it contained that I procured a 
carriage and took her out riding, thinking 
it would assist in restoring her to a more 
tranquil state of mind ; but, I regret to 
say, it had not the desired effect; and I 
have just left her in the care of an 
attendant.” 

"You have been veiy kind, dear friend,” 
Antoine replied ; " but I doubt not you are 
aAvare of the nature of her trouble. My- 
sister’s death, no doubt, affects her, but her 
brother’s marriage, and his wish to remove 


maeie’s mistake. 


83 


her to his home in the North, very possibly 
troubles her more than anything else; but 
he is here to compromise the matter, and 
offers to allow her to remain conditionally 
with us at Seviere Place. If she remains she 
must relinquish all claim upon her brother’s 
property; and my father offers her the place 
in his heart, and the interest in his prop- 
erty, left vacant by the death of Camille. 

I was not aware my cousin Louis expected 
to come for his sister when I wrote to 
Marie, but almost immediately after dis- 
patching Marie’s letter, I received another 
from Louis, informing me of his determina- 
tion to come for Marie himself, and men- 
tioning the day he would arrive in the city. 
At my father’s request, I came here to 
meet Louis, and, if possible, induce him to 
resign in our favor all claims to his sister, 
and am haj)py to say I have succeeded be- 
yond my expectations. But I must see my 
little gypsy, and lighten her heart of its 
weight of sorrow. Louis will entertain you ^ 
in the meantime, Captain.” 


84 


mahie’s mistake. 


^'Stop, Antoine; before you see your 
cousin there is a revelation to be made 
which cannot take place in her presence. 
You know my family, Antoine, is an old 
and respectable one, but you do not know 
one thing, that is, that I have reduced my- 
self and my father to almost poverty. I 
determined some time since, when I learned 
the state of affairs from the • governor,’ to 
retrieve my fallen fortunes by a wealthy 
marriage. Fate threw your cousin in my 
path ; from the first evening I saw her, I 
determined she should be my wife ; but I 
also knew it would be impossible to gain 
your consent to my marriage with her, but 
this did not discourage me. When I brought 

O O 

her from Seviere Place, I determined she 
should never see it again until she was my 
wife, and she will not, for we were married 
this afternoon.” 

’’ Merciful heaven ! Jean Luzerne ! ” ex- 
claimed Antoine, ” is it possible I have been 
so completely deceived in you ! Oh, my 
darling cousin, would that I could have seen 


siarie’s mistake. 


85 


you laid in your grave beside Camille before 
you became the victim of a fortune-hunter. 
Villain, come with me, and in the presence 
of your victim, premise to supply to her, 
so far as lies within your power, the places 
of the friends you have deprived her of. 
Had you persuaded her into this marriage 
because you loved her, I would have for- 
given you. But I will not be the only 
sufferer from this. It will break the heart 
of my aged father, when I return home 
and tell him a dishonorable scoundrel, wear- 
ing the sacred garb of friendship, betrayed 
our confidence in him, and has stolen our 
darling from us.” 

"Stop, Antoine Lafourche, I know in this 
instance I have acted dishonorably, but I 
am not a coward; I cannot nor will not 
receive with impunity more of your vile 
epithets. Your cousin is my wife, here is 
our marriage certificate. I do not think it 
best for you to see her ; she is very 
unhappy, and seeing you in her present 
state of mind, would only add to her 


86 


marie’s mistake. 


misery. And now as to my making any 
promises to you in regard to my treatment 
of your cousin — well, that will depend 
upon the amount of the fortune she receives 
from you. You must not be unreasonable ; 
you see I would not reasonably be expected 
to put myself to very much trouble for a 
bird who did not come to me in a golden 
cage. The setting doubly, trebly enhances 
the value of the jewel, so my dear friend, 
be very careful how you receive Jean Luzerne 
as a relative. I know this news is disa- 
greeable to you, from its sudden announce- 
ment, but if you undertake to thwart me 
in my object in marrying your cousin you 
will only make a bad business worse; for 
I do not mind telling you now, that the 
necessity for wearing the mask assumed is 
over; that Jean Luzerne knows no such 
word as honor or principle, and that self- 
interest is the only altar at which he has 
ever worshipped. Long before I knew there 
was such a person in existence as that 
little petted, spoiled fool, your cousin, or 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


87 


rather Madame Luzerne, I should have said, 
I loved as well as I am capable of loving, 
a beautiful, accomplished girl, the daughter 
of an old Frenchman who died bankrupt in 
this city some years ago. If she had pos- 
sessed wealth, you would never have had 
the honor of an alliance with the house of 
Luzerne ; but unfortunately, the fair Julie’s 
only recommendation was her beauty, and 
that caused her ruin in the eyes of the 
world, for she is my mistress. So, beloved 
cousin, you see your darling Marie has 
quite a formidable rival. Now it is possi- 
ble I might be induced to give up the fair 
Julie for a consideration, for money is more 
to me than beauty, and my wife bids fair 
to make a very passable looking woman some 
day.” 

" Captain Luzerne, you have said enough ; 
like yourself, I can endure no more. As' 
to my cousin Louis, he can speak for him- 
self; but I tell you frankly not a dollar of 
the Seviere estate will you get, for my 
cousin Marie having no legal claims upon 


88 


maeie’s mistake. 


the estate, you cannot get it by compulsion. 
Louis, what do you say? will you divide 
your estate, and give half of it to a black- 
hearted villain, such as Jean Luzerne ac- 
knowledges himself to be?” asked Antoine 
of Louis Lafourche, who had entered the 
room a few minutes before. 

No ! By my father’s will I am entitled 
to all his property, and not one cent will 
you receive from me,” replied Louis, only 
too glad of an excuse for keeping all of 
the immense fortune left by his father. 

Antoine tried by every means in his 
power to induce Captain Luzerne to permit 
him to see Marie, but without avail ; so the 
next day he departed for Seviere Place to 
bear the sad news to those anxiously await- 
ing his_ return. Louis teturned to the North, 
and Marie was left alone with her terrible 
destiny. 

Many of my readers may accuse me of 
over-drawing the character of Captain Lu- 
zerne in the interview we have just narrated 
with the relatives of the young girl who 


Marie’s mistake. 


89 


had just become his wife. Trust me, my 
reader, I have no wish to paint the char- 
acter of Captain Luzerne darker than it 
really was — for a similar character had only 
too terrible an influence upon my own des- 
tiny, and it is ever painful to me to recall 
a semblance of the past by even partially 
resurrecting it in these pages, without 
exaggerating it. 

Again, the manner in which Captain Lu- 
zerne disclosed his marriage to the relatives 
of his wife, may appear a singular course 
for one to pursue whose sole object was 
money. 

Captain Luzerne, villain as he was, relied 
too^ much upon the pride of his wife’s 
family. He supposed by disclosing his real 
character he could extort more money from 
them as an inducement to treat their young 
relative well, and also to prevent society 
from learning what a terrible mesalliance a 
Lafourche had made. But for once his plans 
did not prosper. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


“ Let us not burthen our remembrance 
With heaviness that’s gone.” 

Could my grief speak, the tale would have no end.” 

will for the present leave our 
heroine, and follow Antoine La- 
fourche to Seviere Place ; and 
indeed, we will in imagination precede him 
there, and note the preparations for his 
arrival. 

Madame and Monsieur Lafourche, Louise, 
and mammy Ed a Avere in a perfect state 
of excitement. Eda, from her long rule at 
Seviere Place, still held the reins of gov- 
ernment, and woe unto the unlucky negro 
Avho fell under the displeasure of her ^ble 
majesty. One would imagine, from the 
extensive preparations going on, that the 
inhabitants of Seviere Place were expecting a 
large company, instead of only four travellers, 
and the mere possibility of some of Marie’s 
schoolmates coming home with her. But, oh, 
their’s Avas fated to be only another sad 
illustration of the fallacy of human hopes. 



marie’s mistake. 


91 


”Yoii, Sally I” exclaimed old Eda, entering 
the parlor just as a’ young negro girl was 
lea^dng it, " I saj^ you call dis parlor dusted? 
Now wouldn’t you be shamed, nigga, fur 
your little missus to " come home an’ find 
dis room in such a fix? An’ den you knows 
dat company’s cornin’ wid her an’ Massa 
Tonie. You, Jim, come dis minit'an’ lay cle 
fire all ready to light in de parlor, an’ all 
de spar bedrooms ; and mind, nigga, you 
don’t make no dust or litter ’bout dem 
rooms. Dere, I b’lieve dat’s all I got to 
see to up here ; I mus see how dem nig- 
gars doin’ in der culnerry ’partments, as 
Miss Lou call ’em ; well, it’s proper, I 
s’pose, ’cause Miss Lou is edicated if she 
was po’, an’ she know ; but kitchen is heap 
mo’ shorter word, dat’s so, sartin ; ” and old 
Eda trudged off to give the benefit of her 
presence and scolding to the unlucky wights 
of the colored persuasion she might chance 
to find in the kitchen. 

Just in the midst of one of her harangues 
there, word was brought her that Antoine 


92 


maeie’s mistake. 


had arrived. Supposing of course that her 
idolized Marie was with him, Eda ran out 
to meet Antoine, and arrived at the gate 
almost as soon as Louise and the remainder 
of the family. Poor old Eda, you are not 
alone in your disappointment, in not behold- 
ing your young mistress; your grief will, 
no doubt, be excessive for awhile, but its 
very violence will soon relieve it of its 
poignancy. But, oh, how different will it be 
with the white - haired master of Seviere 
Place ! in all earth’s storehouse there is no 
balm for grief like his ; for, had Marie been 
his own child instead of only his niece, she 
could not have been any more the idolized 
child of his heart than she was. And is 
this anything to marvel at, when we con- 
sider that, when a mere infant, she came to 
him a helpless orphan, and that too, under 
circumstances calculated to awaken his deep- 
est sympathy? Oh, Marie! you, like many 
more of your sex, have exchanged the gold 
for the dross, the pure, tried jewel of un- 
selfish love for the empty casket. 


makje’s mistake. 


9 ? 


Gently, delicately as possible, and ever 
mindful of his aged father’s already lacer- 
ated heart, Antoine informed him of the 
events with which our reader is already 
acquainted. 

We will not attempt a description of the 
heart-crushing agony of Monsieur and Mad- 
ame Lafourche, the sympathy of Louis and 
Antoine with them in their trouble, the wild 
demonstrative grief of mammy Eda, and 
others of the servants by whom Marie was 
almost idolized. 

Few of earth’s children have been so 
blessed, so highly favored of heaven, as to 
have never known trouble ; we leave it 
therefore to their imagination to depict the 
grief of the family at Seviere Place, upon 
whom heaven had laid its chastening rod. 

A few days after the return of Antoine, 
he and Louise were seated one day in the 
parlor, when Eda entered the roonf and 
asked permission to speak a few words to 
Antoine. 

" What is it, mai^y ? Am I so great 


94 


marie’s mistake. 


a stranger that you must ask permission 
to make a request of me ? You know, 
mammy, there is no reasonable request 
within my power to grant that I would 
refuse you,” Antoine said, smiling at the 
troubled, embarrassed air of the old nurse. 

” Why, I wanted to ask Massa Tonie 
somethin’ an’ I is ’fraid he wont unnerstan’ 
me, but I’s goin’ to esplain it well as I 
can. You know, Massa Tonie, I has been 
raised here ; I has missed you an’ Miss 
Camille bofe ; an’ loved you bofe well as 
my own life ; but somehow dat little help- 
less chile, my poor Miss Marie, she got 
deeper hold on ole mammy’s heart dan all 
de odders put togedder; an’ please forgive 
me, dear Massa Tonie, but I wants to 
leave you an’ go to my chile, an’ help her 
to bear her trouble. You see I is no use 
here, Massa Tonie, an’ I feel like I couldn’t 
live widout my chile ; ” and unable longer 
to control her feelings, old Eda threw her- 
self down upon the carpet and commenced 
weeping bitterly. 


marie’s mistake. 


95 


”Do not cry, dear, faithful old mammy, 
and I will see what can be done. As far 
as I am concerned, although it pains me 
to part with you, I will give my free con- 
sent to your going to Marie. But do not 
be too sanguine, mammy, for I have no 
idea Captain Luzerne will consent to your 
coming. I will write to him, however, and 
ask his consent. I would not for any one 
else in the world but you, mammy, ask a 
favor of that heartless scoundrel; but for 
your sake I will beg of him to permit you 
to come to them,” Antoine replied, much 
affected by old Eda’s devotion to his unhappy 
cousin. 

'' Well, Massa Tonie, I will not trouble 
any mo’ now bout dis awful ’fair ; but 
please let ole mammy know soon, ’cause I 
feels like I could not live much longer 
widout seein’ my chile.” And old Eda left 
the parlor in much better spirits than when 
she entered it. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait.” 

T is a mystery to me, dear Antoine,” 
Louise said to her husband, after 
Eda left the room, ”how you 
could endure all the injury and insult that 
man has heaped upon you. Why, few men 
would have endured what you have, and 
allowed the treacherous betrayal of friendship 
to go unscathed.” 

” Why,^ my gentle liltle wife would not 
advocate a duel, I hope. Really, I did not 
give my Northern bride the credit of being 
more hot-blooded than the daughters of the 
South.” Then, assuming a more serious 
tone, Antoine continued : ” Louise, while we 
are discussing this unpleasant subject, I 
think it best to further explain to you my 
reasons for my conduct toward Captain Lu- 
zerne. Ill the first place, I do not enter- 
tain the same notions of honor that some 
of my Southern brethren advocate. I do not 



marie’s mistake. 97 

think it would be right in me to peril my 
life in a duel, break the hearts of my aged 
parents, and blast the happiness of my gen- 
tle Louise, merely to sustain that false- 
termed code of honor; and neither will my 
true friends respect me less for braving the 
world's opinions in preference to sacrificing 
the happiness, perhaps the lives, of my 
parents and my wife upon the altar of the 
world’s erroneous ideas of honor. And then, 
Louise, as regards my unhappy cousin, it 
would have made her situation infinitely 
worse. It will be understood by our most 
intimate friends that Marie Lafourche has 
contracted this marriage in opposition to the 
wishes of her relatives. The course I have 
pursued will prevent the scandal, the noto- 
riety a duel would have given this misera- 
ble affair. My cousin’s future, I own, will 
be sorrowful enough ; but she is a La- 
fourche — their honor is safe enough in her 
hands; and the holy Catholic faith, which is 
a part of her life — those two principles, 

family pride and religious faith, so firmly 
7 


98 MARIE’S MISTAKE. 

implanted in her heart, will render her suf- 
ficiently strong to successfully combat with 
her hard destiny. I feel, my dear wife, 
that Marie’s future troubles and sufferings 
Avill awaken and develop the noble, brilliant 
t ilents I feel she possesses. Yes, Louise, 
Marie’s childhood, scarcely yet o’er, gives 
promise of a glorious womanhood. My only 
regret is that her splendid talents could not 
have been called forth beneath the peaceful 
shades of Seviere Place.” 

” What I do you mean to say that Marie 
will be a literary character?” asked Louise 
in surprise ; ” such an idea as that, in con- 
nection with her, really never entered my 
mind.” 

*'That is because you have been with her 
so little, your opportunity for studying her 
real character and disposition so limited,” 
Antoine replied. "Yes, Louise; I do really 
think my cousin has talent sufllcient to gain 
for her high literary renown ; and I am con- 
fident that fame will yet be hers — the reward 
of her own genius and industry. Yet it is 


marie’s mistake. 


99 


a sad reflection, but none the less true, that 
literary glory will be all she will have to 
fill her measure of happiness, possibly, in 
this life ; that which her noble heart will 
most yearn for — passionate, devoted love 
will never be hers, I feel sure, while Cap- 
tain Luzerne lives. Marie, finding love, 
sympathy, congeniality denied her at home, 
too purely honorable and high-principled to 
accept them from outside her home, while 
she wears the accursed bonds that bind her 
to Jean Luzerne, will naturally turn to that 
only avenue by which she can honorably 
commune with the hearts of others — the 
pen.” 

Did you ever think, dear reader, how 
many of the gifted sons and daughters of 
Literature have had their talents developed 
in the manner prophesied by Antoine La- 
fourche in regard to his cousin’s future 
career? Did you ever consider, when read- 
ing some entertaining book, the fruit of the 
intellectual labor of some brilliant author, in 
what manner that glorious talent was first 


100 


marie’s mistake. 


awakened, which can call forth in your own 
heart this all-absorbing interest? Those 
passionate feelings, lofty ideas, glowing as- 
pirations are almost always the offspring of 
suffering, disappointment, and the most 
terrible agony the human heart is heir to. 
Yes, my reader, it is thus the thoughts 
that give you so much pleasure are purified 
by suffering, cleansed of earthly dross by 
fire. And yet the world — the thoughtless 
world — offer humble adoration at the altar 
of genius, feeling, knowing no sympathy 
with the suffering man or woman, as the 
case may be. No, in profound admiration 
of the talent of the brilliant author, the 
poor, lonely heart, yearning for imre, 
devoted, unselfish love and sympathy is 
forgotten. 

Yet, oh, in how many instances would 
the hard-earned laurel wreath be gladly 
cast aside for the simple, humble flowers 
of affection ! Never, kind reader, let the 
thought escape you when reading some 
glorious work of genius, that the fountain 


iarie’s mistake. 


101 


head of that powerful talent which challenges 
the world’s admiration, was, in all proba- 
bility, a fiery sea of trouble. Let, therefore, 
a pure, holy friendship and sympathy mingle 
with and moderate your admiration and 
adoration of the sons and daughters of 

literature. For, be assured, the hearts of 
nine-tenths of the authors that have lived, 
hjive only found momentary alleviation from 
terrible suflTering in communion with the 
hearts of others, through that thrice-blessed 
medium — the jpen. Therefore, oh, world, 
be not chary of 3’our praise ; be lenient in 
your criticisms, for in almost every instance, 
your adulations must fill the measure of 
happiness of the sons and daughters of 

genius ! But it is right, it is well, that a 
few be offered a sacrifice upon the fiery 
altar, that by their glorious, purified and 
God-given genius, the world may be en- 
lightened and made better. But again, most 
patient reader, we are guilty of digression. 

It would have been well if the aged 
master and mistress of Seviere Place could 


102 


marie’s mistake. 


have viewed the marriage of Marie in the 
light Antoine did, and could have borne her 
loss as he did ; but unfortunately, this 
could not be. Aged and (from ill health 
and trouble) childish, they were not pre- 
pared to endure with the fortitude younger 
persons would have done, the accumulated 
sorrows and disappointments of the past 
few weeks ; and before a month had elapsed 
after Marie’s marriage, her white-haired old 
uncle and aunt slept the sleep that knows 
no waking in this world in the lonely little 
burial-ground of Seviere Place. Yes, the 
noble old couple avIio had for so many 
years dispensed with lavish hand the hospi- 
talities of Seviere Place, were at rest at last. 

Oh, would not a merciful heaven permit 
their purified souls to be the future guardian 
angels of the idolized Marie ! It is a sweet 
and holy thought, and sometimes as memory 
reverts to the life of our heroine, I think it 
must have been so. It was surely so ordained 
by a kind and loving Father, that those 
who had so loved Marie Lafourche in this 


marie’s mistake. 


103 


world were permitted to watch over, to 
guide that frail bark into the glorious har- 
bor in which it finally anchored, and made 
her life the brilliant success it was. 

But I must stop my dreaming, if dream it 
is — this thought that has given me more 
happiness than all else combined — ere I 
call upon myself the sneer of the cold, 
worldly philosopher, who will call my dream 
the silly sophistry of a woman. 

The halls and lofty rooms of Seviere 
Place, which so lately re-echoed to the 
merry laugh and the light footstep of Marie, 
to the more stately tread of the haughty 
Camille, to the gentle voices of Monsieur 
and Madame Lafourche, were still and 
deserted now. In the darkened library of 
Seviere Place its young master knelt with 
bowed head and aching heart, imploring of 
heaven resignation to its unalterable decrees. 

In her room the gentle young wife knelt, 
asking of heaven the withdrawal of the 
chastening rod which had been laid so 
heavily upon him she loved. 


104 


marie’s mistake. 


The grief of the servants rivalled that of 
Antoine, especially that of poor old Eda, 
who, since her earliest recollection, had lived 
at Seviere Place. The death of her idolized 
master and mistress was severely felt by the 
affectionate old creature, and following out 
the characteristics of her race, she made no 
effort to stifle her feelings; and when in 
Antoine’s presence, her wild demonstrative 
grief added much to his distress. But we 
will, for the present, leave the family at 
Seviere Place, to turn once more to Marie. 

None will mourn the death of her be- 
loved uncle and aunt more sincerely than 
our heroine, and none who weep over the 
death of the master and mistress of Seviere 
Place but whose tears will be sooner wiped 
away than hers. The child-bride of Jean 
Luzerne will find nothing in the dreary 
future calculated to tempt her into forget- 
fulness of the dear old home, or the far 
dearer relatives there. 


CHAPTER X. 


Sweet sunny smiles and winning tones, 

And tongue of flattery, too. 

May often speak and loudly own 
Deep friendship felt for you ; 

But man has here some selfish ends. 

Which oft he seeks to gain. 

By loud professions to his friends, 

Which trials will prove vain. 

Then ever think where fate may lead, 

’Mid sadness or ’mid glee. 

That all are not true friends indeed. 

Who so profess to be. 

residence of Jean Luzerne’s 
her was a large, gloomy old 
ilding, situated on one of the 
most unfrequented streets in New Orleans. 
The gloomy e^J^erior of the building was 
only rivalled by its cheerless interior. The 
faded, moth-eaten, antiquated furniture, the 
worn, soiled carpenting, the lack of neat- 
ness and comfort that pervaded the entire 
establishment, painfully contrasted with the 
cheerful, well-kept rooms at Seviere Place. 

Altogether, the home to which Captain 
Luzerne took his young bride was not cal- 
culated very soon to bring her forgetfulness 
of the old home, and the dear ones there, 



106 


marie’s mistake. 


from whom she was forever parted. The 
evening following Captain Luzerne’s marriage, 
his father was seated in one of the gloomy, 
cheerless rooms of the old house, when 
suddenly the door opened and his son 
entered with his young wife. 

” Hello, governor, what do you think of 
the daughter I have brought you ? The 
worst of the business is, I have the bird 
without the cage, and I do not know what 
to do with her,” exclaimed Jean, as he 
threw himself upon one of the antiquated 
sofas, leaving Marie standing in the centre 
of the room. Monsieur Luzerne arose from 
his chair, took the hand of the trembling, 
frightened girl, and turning to his son, 
asked : 

''Jean, is this child your wife? Your 
introduction, so short and unsatisfactory, does 
not inform me whom I have the honor of 
welcoming to my lonely home.” 

Before Captain Luzerne could reply to 
his father’s question, Marie (who had been 
gazing into the kind, venerable face of the 


marie’s MISTAItE. 


107 


old man, who, if his unprincipled son would 
permit him, would in the future supply the 
place of those dear friends of whom she 
had so recently been deprived) threw her 
arms round M. Luzerne’s neck, and burst 
into tears. 

"Look here, this will not do; I cannot 
endure this folly any longer. Let us come 
to an understanding in regard to this busi- 
ness, so that all parties in future may know 
what to depend upon. Let me tell you, 
governor, if you encourage that girl in her 
sniveling I will take her from you, and on 
board of the ship, and I can tell you her 
life there will not be an enviable one ; 
neither do I want any more scenes here 
today ; ” and Captain Luzerne arose from 
the sofa, and rudely separated Marie from 
the arms of his father. 

This was only a mere commencement of 
the brutal treatment to which our heroine 
must in future learn to submit. Will the 
heart of Marie Luzerne be able to bear up 
beneath this accumulated weight of agony 


108 


iviarie’s mistake. 


and mortification? Ah! if you doubt it, you 
little know the strength of religious fiilli 
and family pride so firmly implanted in the 
heart of every true daughter of la belle 
France, If she endured with patience and 
fortitude her heavy cross, her beloved rela- 
tives would be spared the mortification of 
having the subject of her unhappy mar- 
riage discussed in society, and the thousand 
misrepresentations and exaggerations which 
would be placed upon every act of hers. 
She Avould hide, in short, a betrayed and 
breaking heart beneath a smiling mask. 

Oh, how often is this cross laid upon 
woman in the first circles of society ! She 
not only has to bear her terrible burden 
of sorrow, but has to hide it from the 
world, by acting a part, wearing a, smiling 
face, when bitter, scalding, blistering tears 
would be more in consonance with her 
feelings. 

But thou art right, oh, sister woman, in 
this ; the world only court thy smiles. The 
most heart-rending story of human agony 


marie’s mistake. 


109 


would only be met with indifference. The 
bitter tears, the agony of heart which wrings 
thy soul, must be borne alone^ and when 
peace and sunshine are thine again, go forth 
into the midst of the false, heartless butter- 
flies of fashion, that flit within the gold- 
guarded precincts of the first circle of our 
land, and you will meet a flattering recep- 
tion there. But when thy sorrow becomes 
unendurable, when thou cau’st no longer 
wear the false smile which never had its 
birth from the natural source, happiness, 
but drew its unnatural life and brilliancy 
from pride, and the desire to hide from 
the eyes of a censorious, uncharitable 
world a breaking heart. How long, oh, 
world, will the necessity last of this added 
weight to woman’s cross, for so long as 
society is cursed by those worse, infinitely 
worse than thieves, scandal-mongers, will the 
necessity exist for women to act this decep- 
tive part from which in almost every instance 
her truthful soul shrinks. Yet if she does 
not enact her part successfully, scandal, with 


110 


marie’s mistake. 


its ever-venomed tongue, will rend aside the 
fair veil with which she has sought to 
guard the portals of her heart, and what 
should he the sacred precincts of her home ; 
and she will have her sensitive heart con- 
tinually lacerated by being compelled to bear 
the stings of scandal from which she is 
unable to protect herself. 

We have not, as we have stated in a 
former chapter, sought to paint our heroine 
a paragon of womanly perfection ; on the 
contrary, she had her faults, (as who of her 
sex has not,) and was liable to all the 
catalogue of follies alleged against woman. 
But my object is to prove what trials, 
temptations and snares a woman may pass 
through unscathed, and with credit and honor, 
even if she fight the battle alone. Yes, 
^with religion in her heart, family honor and 
pride at stake, woman — a true woman — is 
impregnable to the darts of even Satan 
himself, or the most accomplished and fas- 
cinating of his satellites in the form of man 
in this world. Go on, therefore, woman ; 


maeie’s mistake. 


Ill 


teach weak, wayeriug man a lesson he stands 
greatly in need of — that of braving the 
hardest destiny unappalled. 

About three weeks after Marie’s marriage, 
as she was seated with her husband and 
his father in the old library, one morning, 
letters were brought in by the servant. 
The Captain did not appear in a very good 
humor with the world in general, or him- 
self, either, this morning. He had just 
returned from a short voyage upon which 
he had started immediately after his mar- 
riage, leaving his wife with his father, with 
many admonitions to her to become recon- 
ciled to her chains by the time he returned, 
or at least sufficiently so to spare him, on 
his return, the annoyance of continually 
seeing her in tears. 

Why, Marie,” said he, on parting,. 
would rather see you display some of that- 
angel temper you did on our first meeting, 
than to put up with this everlasting blub- 
bering, because I could soon crush that 
spirit; and this folly must be stopped; I 


112 


marie’s mistake. 


9 

will not endure it ! ” and thus they parted. 
Upon, his return he had found his wife and 
father getting along so happily together that 
his presence would rather mar than add to 
their pleasure. This state of affairs did not 
just suit Captain Jean, hence his displeasure. 
He arose, and commenced opening the letters 
upon the servant’s depositing the mail upon 
the table. One at last for a moment claimed 
his attention. 

"Well, I do wonder what Antoine La- 
fourche takes me for, after him and my 
honored brother-in-law swindling me out 
of Marie’s claims to the valuable estates ; 
he writes, asking me to receive that mis- 
erable old negro, Eda. Thank you, dear 
cousin, I have one profitless burden from 
your family, I do not care in the present 
state of my finances to receive another,” 
and Captain Luzerne threw the letter angrily 
from him that Antoine had written, in the 
faint hope of inducing him to permit Eda to 
come to Marie. 

"What is it, Captain? Will Antoine per- 


MAEIE’S mSTAKE. 


113 


Iilit mammy to live with me? Please allow 
her to come. I will promise you to never 
cry any more — to do nothing that will 
give you ofience, Jean, dear Jean, if you 
cannot love me, only treat me kindly, and 
by so doing, permit me to love you. I 
know I • am an ignorant, unprepossessing 
creature, unworthy the love of all intelli- 
gent, accomplished man like yourself; but, 
my husband, within this plain little casket 
is a jewel which you will live to see the 
day when it would be priceless were it 
within your grasp — the heart. If the heart, 
which, for the first and last time, Marie ofiers 
for your acceptance, is worth winning, com- 
mence now by granting this request. Oh, 
if mercy or pity were ever in your heart, 
let my dear old nurse come to me ! ” and 
for the first time in her life, Marie threw 
her arms around the neck of her husband, 
and found relief for her over-burdened heart 
in a passionate flood of tears. 

And what reply did this specious villain 
make to an appeal that would have moved 


114 


marie’s mistake. 


a heart of stone? First, rudely repulsing 
bis weeping wife from him, he exclaimed : 

'' Stop this nonsense, madame, and never 
again annoy me by a like occurrence ! If 
this old negro were of any value I would 
very gladly permit her to come, and sell 
her the moment of her arrival, but as the 
case stands, I do not hesitate a moment 
in deciding against her coming, so no more 
upon the subject, if you please, madame ! ” 
and with a mocking bow and smile Jean 
Luzerne left the room and house. 


uiiArrji:ii XI. 


When prosperous gales doth waft thee on, 
And sunbeams round thee play, 

And success doth each action crown, 

And honor gilds thy w’ay, 

Full many, then, will round thee crowd. 
And seem true and sincere. 

Whom the first rising adverse cloud 
Will prove as false as fair. 

Then e’er remember what you read. 
Wherever you may be. 

That all are not true friends indeed 
Who so profess to be. 



C will leave, for a time, the weeping, 
heart-broken wife, and go with the 
unfeeling husband, who directed his 


footsteps, after leaving the house, to the ship. 
Arriving there, he was told by one of the sailors 
that Mademoiselle had called during his- ab- 
sence, and was awaiting him in the cabin. 
Ciiptain Luzerne hastened below, well know- 
inir who the IMademoiselle was that awaited 
him, for by no other name did the sailors 
know the unhappy mistress of their captain. 

You were very kind, dear Julie, to visit 
mo thus early. I should have hastened to 
you immediately upon the landing of the 
vessel this morning, only some business de- 


% 


116 biaeie’s mistake. 

manded my immediate attention ; ” and the 
man who, less than one hour before, had 
cast his weeping wife, imploring his love, 
from his heart, attempted to embrace the 
girl who stood before him with all the beauty 
of an angel, but with the heart of a fiend. 
The passions in her heart seemed, for the 
time being, to have given more than ordin- 
ary strength to her arm ; for, instead of 
receiving Captain Luzerne’s embrace as usual, 
she threw him from her, and while the ter- 
rible passion in her heart shook her slight 
form like a reed, she exclaimed 

Do you dare, Jean Luzerne, to attempt 
to embrace me while your lips are yet warm 
with the kisses of your wdfe ! Yes, I know 
all, and may the blackest curses within the 
power of human conception be thine ! Did 
you not promise, and call upon heaven and 
earth to bear witness to that promise, that 
if ever you called woman by the name of 
wife, that woman should be Julie De 
Bourghe? Is it thus you keep that word? 
Jean Luzerne, I loved you with a love whose 


marie’s mistake. 


117 


measure could not have been filled by the 
cool regard and respect of ten thousand such 
women as the one for whom you have bar- 
tered the fierce, passionate love of Julie De 
Bourghe. With me it is but one short step 
from passionate, devoted love, to darkest, 
deadliest hate I I have taken that step ! 
Yes, start ! and well you may, for my hate 
is such that I could send a daof^er through 
your treacherous heart, only I wish you to 
live, so that I can blast your every hope 
in life, make your existence one long, lin- 
gering curse ! ” And the beautiful fury sank 
down upon a sofa, completely exhausted by 
her terrible emotions. 

Captain Luzerne waited until she was 
more tranquil, and then, by those fiendish 
arts known to his sex, so far won that 
poor wretch over to his views, that when, 
hours after, she left the ship, she was the 
slave of his will and passions still. 

Poor Julie De Bourghe ! child of sin and 
passions ! thy matchless beauty and talents 
rendered thee worthy of a better fate ; but 


118 


marie’s mistake. 


wretched as your lot is, it is an enviable 
one ill comparison with that of the misera- 
ble wife of Luzerne. 

Well would it have been for both had a 
reconciliation between Captain Luzerne and 
his victim proved impossible that day, and 
they had met no more. 

But we will again go back to Marie, 
whom we left in the gloomy old library. 

For some time after the departure of his 
son. Monsieur Luzerne permitted Marie to 
give unrestrained vent to her sorrows in 
the passionate fit of weeping in which her 
husband left her ; but when she became 
more calm, he took a seat beside her, and, 
taking her hand, he said : 

'' Marie, I think Jean designs taking you 
with him on his next voj^age. If he does, 
my child, .1 shall never see you again. My 
sands of life are nearly run. Nothing would 
give me more happiness, my dear Marie, 
than to have you with me in my last hour; 
but this is impossible. I am the more 
reconciled to giving you up wheii I think 


marie’s mistake. 


119 


of the iufluence you may yet exert over 
my unhappy son. You are his wife. Your 
destinies are bound together for life. You 
must study his faults and requirements, and 
conform yourself to them, as I have done, 
if you would know peace in this world. 
I, who, for so many years yielded a willing 
slave to his beautiful mother’s imperious 
will — of whom Jean is an exact counter- 
part, both in character and appearance — 
know how worse than useless it is to oppose 
him in anything, when sooner or later one 
must submit ; and opposition will only call 
npoii you his terrible anger. Will you 
promise, my child, to try to gain the love 
of your husband, so far, at least, as to be 
able to influence him to lead a better and 
more virtuous life? I know him thoroughly. 
Gain his heart, and passionate, self-willed, 
wicked as he is, you can control him as 
easily as a child. Will my darling little 
girl promise me this, the first and last favor 
I shall ever ask at her hands ? ” and Mon- 
sieur Luzerne affectionately embraced Marie, 


120 


iviarie’s mistake. 


whom he had at first pitied for her sorrows. 
But it only needed the intercourse of the 
last few weeks for him to discover the 
noble, brilliant qualities of mind and heart 
which she possessed, and which had awakened 
in the heart of the old man a depth of love 
which his wayward, undutiful son could 
never have called forth. 

cannot promise, mon j^ere, to try to 
control my husband in anything,^’ replied 
Marie ; for, strange as it may appear to 
you, his education and accomplishments, his 
brilliant mind, that marks him the polished 
gentleman in the worldly sense of the word, 
ill these consist the charm, the fiiscinations 
Jean Luzerne has for me. These qualities 
first called forth my admiration, and, mon 
perCj I will confess to you that my admira- 
tion has merged into blind idolatry of his 
intellect. All I ask of is that he will con- 
trol his terrible temper, treat me kindly, 
and by so doing permit me to love him. 
My love for him is so purely unselfish, I 
do not exact even a semblance of afiectiou 


marie’s mistake. 


121 


from him, because I feel my perfect inability 
to inspire a corresponding feeling in bis 
heart to that which I bear him, and even 
render me reconciled to separation from all 
my friends and relatives. I cannot myself 
define this feeling. It is not what the world 
calls love, but rather an all-absorbing 
respect, veneration, worship of a superior 
genius and intellect. I should as soon think, 
mon jpere^ of raising my. puny arm with 
commands to the wave of the great ocean, 
as to hope to ever control or influence my 
husband. Neither would I wish to exert 
my power over him; for did he but love 
me his love would be so strong, so all- 
powerful that, secure within the ark of my 
husband’s love, I would rest content, feeling, 
caring for nothing but the sweet knowledge 
that he loved me. Basking in the sunshine 
of his love, what would the friends of 
my youth be ? But a rhemory ! The world 
would be as naught, for Jean would be my 
world. But, mon jpere, this picture of bliss 
that I have drawn can never be realized. 


122 


makie’s mistake. 


Such happiness was never designed for an 
unworthy child of earth ! and Marie re- 
lapsed into silence, to dream of Jean 
. Luzerne, not as he really was, the heartless 
betrayer of innocence and virtue, but ascrib- 
ing to him every noble quality, and excus- 
ing his faults on the plea of his fearful 
temper, and her unworthiness and lack of 
ability to inspire love or regard for her in 
his heart. ^ 

" I fear, my poor child,” replied M. Lu- 
zerne, "you are cherishing a dream which 
wrecks the happiness of all too many in 
this world. The one you love must either 
possess, or rather, you must imagine he 
possesses, all the noble, divine attributes 
within the pale of human conception. It 
appears cruel in me thus early to undeceive 
you, but the knowledge must come. Your 
reason, experience and judgment will yet 
teach you that the Son of God himself de- 
clared : ' There is none good ; there is no 
perfection.’ Look upon the works of God, 
my dear Marie. What tree is there without 


mauie’s mistake. 


123 


its crooked limb or knot? There is no 
animal without blemish; and, oh, believe me, 
there is no man or woman without their 
defects of mind and heart. Had not God 
in His all-seeing wisdom so willed it that 
this should be one of the established laws 
of nature, there would have been no neces- 
sity for the Divine command of charit}*. 
There would have been no* necessity of 
heaven itself, earth being a paradise, and 
its inhabitants gods and angels. Your mis- 
sion, my beloved child, may be to earn a 
glorious crown by bearing a heavy cross. 
One of your nature is very liable to ex- 
tremes. You either experience ecstatic hap- 
piness, or the most terrible, abject miserf. 
Try, my child, to govern these transports, 
and it will add much to your chances of 
liappiness.” 

”But I cannot, dear papa,” exclaimed 
Marie, " look upon life, upon my Mlow- 
beings, as you would have me do. The 
moment I could see a fault or weakness 
ill the character of one I loved, no matter 


124 


marie’s mistake. 


how devotedly, passionately I loved previ- 
ous to the discovery, that moment would 
love die out from my heart, though it 
might possibly be superseded by a species 
of pity; but even that would be near akin 
to contempt. I am only too familiar with 
my husband’s fearful temper; but that is, 
as you say, hereditary, and more reoently 
it has been called forth by my brother and 
cousin’s conduct. But, oh, mon pere, if he 
possess faults or qualities calculated to les- 
sen my respect for him, just heaven grant 
I may live and die in happy ignorance of 
them!” and Jean Luzerne should have seen 
the purity and truth at that moment mir- 
rored in the face of his wife, rendering her 
beauty almost celestial — her glorious dark 
eyes fairly dazzling in their brilliancy, in- 
spired by the enthusiasm she felt in the 
subject of conversation. 

And, oh, just heaven, why could not the 
prayer have been answered? Oh, man, was 
your miserable nature so tvarped, so debased 
by fiendish passions, that you could not 


marie’s mistake. 


125 


discern the jewel -you were trampling under 
foot? And where was this man, in whom 
was centered the happiness — nay, almost 
the lives of his too-indulgent father and con- 
fiding wife, at the moment when they were 
speaking of him, and dealing so gently, so 
charitably with his faults? On board his 
ship, clasped in the impure, unholy embrace 
of Julie De Bourghe, and listening to her 
burning words of passion. Poor wife ! your’s 
is not a solitary instance of a wife’s love 
and confidence meeting similar reward. Yet, 
with all his faults, blame not Captain Luzerne 
too severely. First came the temptation of 
her extraordinary beauty ; she by all the 
arts so familiar to woman, by the power 
her great beauty gave her, called forth the 
fiercest passions of his nature. The circufca- 
stances of both forbade their marriage, so at 
last yielding to his entreaties and promises 
(little caring whether he kept the latter or 
nof, so long as he remained the slave of her 
will), Julie De Bourghe became his mistress. 
In the earlier days of their intercourse, it 


126 


marie's mistake. 


is doubtful if Captain Luzerne would have 
permitted even mercenary motives to have 
induced him to. swerve in his allegiance to his 
mistress so far as to marly, even to acquire 
wealth to cast at her feet. But at the time 
of his meeting with Marid Lafourche, the 
fierce ardor of his passion for Julie De 
Bourghe had passed away ; and wearied, 
rendered desperate by her constant and im- 
portunate demands for money. Captain 
Luzerne determined upon making a wealthy 
marriage, and settling an annuity upon his 
mistress, to cease all further intercourse 
with her. But, ah ! the syren spell that 
had held him ca^^tive thus far was suffi- 
ciently potent to continue the enthrallment ; 
and as he held that woman, fit tj^pe of a 
fallen angel, to his fiercely beating heart, 
he thought of his marriage, which had 
resulted in no pecuniary advantage, but only 
sown the seeds of estrangement and dissen- 
sion between him and his mistress. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Young traveller o’er life’s checkered sea, 

Now setting forth with joy, 

Oh ! do not dream thy trip will be , 

All bright, with no alloy ; 

For thou hast much indeed to learn, 

As thou sailest o’er life’s tide. 

And often will thy spirit yearn • 

For some kind hand to guide. 

With lessons wise, thy vessels prow, 

’Mid the shoals of life’s sea. 

And so one word of warning now 
I’d whisper unto thee. 

MAN by the name of Kingsley 
was mate of Captain Luzerne’s 
vessel ; he was a' married man, 
and his family lived in an adjoining house 
to Monsieur Luzerne, and of course Mrs. 
Kingsley had called upon the Captain’s young 
bride very soon after she became an inmate 
of his father’s house. Marie had returned 
the call, and since then they had become 
quite intimate. At the time we speak of, 
about three months had elapsed since Marie’s 
marriage, and she was still with her hus- 
band’s father, although the Captain, at the 
expiration of each successive voyage, had 
threatened to take her with him. Finally, 



128 


marie’s mistake. 


as we before stated, about three months 
after his marriage, he returned home and 
announced that from some cause he had 
discharged Kingsley from his employ. Marie, 
although sorry for the occurrence, did not 
dare remonstrate with her husband, or ask 
him to give Kingsley his situation back 
again. But feeling that she could not do 
less than pay them a visit and express her 
sympathy with the family of Kingsley, who 
were wholly dependent upon him for their 
support, Marie called that very afternoon, 
and, oh, it would have been well if she 
had not done so ; for Mrs. Kingsley, no 
longer deterred from so doing by fear of 
her husband’s discharge, told Captain Lu- 
zerne’s young wife the miserable story (with 
which my readers are but too familiar) of 
his intimacy with Julie De Bourghe. 

Marie was for a few minutes too much 
shocked to speak, but when she did recover 
the power of speech, it was only to reiterate 
an angry denial of the truth of the state- 
me lit made against her husband, until finally 


maeie’s mistake. 


129 


Mrs. Kinsley* offered to take her past the 
residence of J ulie De Bourghe that very even- 
ing, where she would, in all probability, 
see Captain Luzerne. 

I will go with you,’’ exclaimed Marie, 
not that I believe you ; but in the future, 
when he gives ventd to his terrible temper, 
and treats me unkindly, in some such hour 
I may be tempted to doubt him, and my 
mind revert to this miserable story you have 
told me. Therefore, to satisfy myself^ to 
prove how utterly groundless this charge 
against my husband is, I shall go ; and re- 
member, Mrs. Kingsley, whatever the issue 
is, I go to do him justice, not to quell 
awakened doubts of mine;” and Marie Lp 
fourche returned to her cheerless home, to 
await the coming of evening, when slfe was- 
te have faith in her fellow-beings forever 
destroyed. Oh, heaven, why is it necessary 
that this terrible hour should come sooner 
or later to so many of earth’s children? 
And, O Marie, it is by a woman’s hand 

this bitter cup is being placed to thy lips, 
9 


130 


marie’s mistake. 


for from no especial regard for you, but 
for the miserable satisfaction of wreaking a 
petty revenge upon Captain Luzerne, does 
this woman rend aside the vail which has 
heretofore concealed the true character of 
your husband. 

Ill the early part of the evening, Mrs. 
Kingsley called for Marie, and they left 
the house accompanied by a negro boy who 
had conceived 41 violent attachment for Marie, 
and who had been almost as devoted to 
her as poor Eda. The boy, of course, was 
ignorant of the purpose of his young mis- 
tress and her friend, but supposed they were 
going for a walk, as they had frequently 
done before; but when, on their return, they 
Xiaused before the house where Julie De 
Bourglie lived, when too late to prevent his 
mistress from obtaining the knowledge that 
would sear her heart like a red hot iron, 
did the truth burst upon the mind of the 
faithful negro. 

" Dis your . work, Mrs. Kingsley,” he 
angrily exclaimed, ''dis de way you take 


marie’s mistake. 


131 


to get even wid Massa Capp^n. I’s knowed 
dis awful bissiness all de time, but I would 
let dem burn de life out me ’fore I 
would killed my poor little missus by tellin’ 
her; an’ yon, white lady, to do such ting, 
why, you not got half de principle o% a 
nigga. For hebben’s sake come ’way, dear 
Miss Marie ; don’t try to fine out tings dat 
will only make you mo’ misble.” But, alas ! 
poor Taylor’s appeal came too late to spare 
Marie the fearful blow. The house, a small 
cottage with a front yard, was almost con- 
cealed from view from the street by the 
thick shrubbery with which it was sur- 
rounded. The front windows, extending from 
top to bottom of the room, opened like 
doors upon the little gallery; they were 
draped by rich lace curtains, which, how- 
ever, were looped back this evening. Seated 
upon a sofi in the little parl^, were Jean 
Luzerne and Julie De Bourghe. The arms 
of the Captain were clasped around Julie, 
and her head rested upon his shoulder. 
The gas was burning brightly, and a person 


132 


marie’s mistake. 


outside in the little front yard could see 
distinctly everything in the room. And 
within that yard, concealed by the shrub- 
bery, Marie Luzerne stood gazing upon her 
husband, who, at that moment, was almost 
(^livious of her existence. At length Mrs. 
Kingsley, frightened by the death-like pallor 
which had overspread Marie’s face, and by 
the fixed, stony stare which her eyes 
assumed as she stood speechless, gazing into 
the room, hurriedly and silently led her 
from the yard, and when they arrived at 
the place where they had left the negro 
boy, Taylor, Marie sank down upon the 
pavement in a death-like swoon. Several 
persons passing along the street stopped and 
offered their assistance, but when they would 
have carried the fainting girl into the house 
of Julie De Bourghe, it being the nearest 
residence, Taylor’s vehement remonstrance 
attracted the attention of a gentleman who 
was at the moment passing, and who 
stopped to inquire what was the matter with 
the lady. 


marie’s mistake. 


133 


” Thank hebben, it’s Massa Clifton, and 
he help me, I know,” exclaimed Taylor, 
greatly relieved, as he recognized Gerald 
Clifton in the stranger who made the 
inquiry. 

Young Clifton was quite familiar with the 
history of Jean Luzerne, and the moment 
he recognized the unhappy wife, he compre- 
hended the whole state of affairs. 

”My office is just across the street; we 
will carry Madame Luzerne there until we 
procure a carriage,” he said, and lifting 
Marie from the arms of the ^faithful negro, 
ho carried her to his office, and laid her 
gently upon a lounge. Hastily procuring 
restoratives, Gerald Clifton soon had the 
satisfaction of seeing Marie recover, and 
slowly opening her eyes, she gazed wildly 
tround her ; but in a moment she recognized 
Taylor and Mrs. Kingsley, then her eyes 
jvandered to the sympathizing face of Gerald 
Clifton, and for a moment rested there. 
But in that brief moment she recognized 
him, remembered their last meeting, her suf- 


134 


makie’s mistake. 


fering since that time, and her more recent, 

and of all others, the most terrible sorrow 

she had yet endured — that which she had 

just passed through, which had blasted 

forever all hopes of her husband’s love. 

For a time she appeared about to relapse 

again into insensibility. But Gerald Clifton 

knelt beside her, and in a voice to which 

his heartfelt sympathy for the unhappy girl 

lent unusual power, implored her to look to 

God for strength, to bear Avith fortitude the 

terrible destiny before her ; and when she 

became calm and Avas fullv sensible of Avhat 
■% '' 

he AA^as saying, he -told her that her sorroAV 
was only similar to that of hundreds of other 
women. At length, soothed into calmness, by 
his voice and sweet words of hope and 
encouragement, Marie asked to be taken 
^home. So, accompanied by Taylor and Mrs. 
Kingsley j Gerald saw them in a carriage, 
and safely on their way home. He did not 
think it best to accompany them, and charged 
Taylor and Mrs. Kingsley never to speak 
V>f the unhappy occurrence of the evening. 


marie’s MISTABIE. 


135 


for it would do no good, and only arouse 
Captain Luzerne’s terrible anger ; but to 
merely say Madame Luzerne had been taken 
ill during their walk. 

Upon arriving at their home, Mrs. Kings- 
ley left, them; so, dismissing the carriage, 
Taylor assisted his mistress to her room, 
where, calling his sister# Nina, who of 
course knew, as well as Taylor about the 
history of her master’s relations with Julie 
De Bourghe, Taylor told her the whole oc- 
currenoe of the evening. Nina loved Marie 
as devotedly as Taylor, and this fact, added 
to her brother’s distressing story, aroused her 
deepest sympathy, and she soon had Marie 
undressed aixl in bed, when she prepared 
an opiate that speedily brought sleep and 
oblivion- of her sorrow to the unhappy wife. 
Nina sat by the bedside of her mistress 
until she heard the voice of Captain Luzerne 
in the hall below, when she hastened down 
stairs and told him her mistress had been 
taken suddenly ill, and she thought it best 
not to disturb her, as she was sleeping, and 


136 


marie’s mistake. 


would the Captain have tea alone, as his 
father had long since retired, not being very 
well. 

_ With an oath. Captain Luzerne refused 
Nina’s offer of supper, and entering the 
library, he threw himself down upon a 
lounge and soon sank into a deep sleep, 
from which he did not awaken for hours 
after, when ho was aroused by the boy 
Taylor, who slept in the room of Monsieur 
Luzerne. Taylor told his young master that 
his father was very ill — dying, he feared. 
Captain Luzerne hastened to his father’s 
room, and the condition he found him in 
deeply shocked his profligate son, who, not- 
withstanding his undutiful, disrespectful con- 
duct, really at heart loved his kind, indulgent 
old father, as well as he was capable of 
loving any one. 

''How long have you been so ill, father, 
and why did not Taylor call me sooner? 
You should have had a physician before 
this ! ” and Captain Luzerne was hastening 
Taylor for the nearest physician, when Mon- 


maeie’s mistake. 


137 


sieur Luzerne exclaimed, ''No, Jean, my son, 

it is too late ; but send for Father S , I 

would see him.” Too much exhausted for 
further speech, M. Luzerne relapsed into 
silence, and his son offering no objection, 
Taylor hastened to the residence of the 
priest. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


The stars that disappear at morn, 

Oh, think not they are fled, 

They are not lost, they are not gone, 
But, mid the glory shed 
Around them by the source of light. 
They shine more sweetly than at night ; 
It is the night that’s dead. 

And thus the loved who disappear, 

Pass not, perchance, away ; 

But walk in light so sweet and clear. 

It blinds us with its ray ; 

On this, to us, benighted clod. 

The glory of Almighty God 
Embosoms them in day. 



REVIOUS to arousing his master, 
Taylor had called Nina, who was 
sleeping in her young mistress’s 
room. • Quietly as possible, Taylor had told 
Nina of the condition of M. Luzerne, yet 
their voices had aroused Marie from her 
sleep, and she announced her determination, 
as soon as Taylor left the room, to go to 
the room of her father-in-law. Nina tried 
to dissuade her from her purpose, but fail- 
ing in doing so, assisted her in dressing, - 
when they both repaired to the room of 
M. Luzerne. Marie was not prepared for 


map.ie’s mistake. 


139 


the sight that awaited her there. Her father- 
in-law, still and pallid as if death had already 
claimed the noble spirit, created the impres- 
sion in the mind of Marie that he had 
already passed away. With a wild cry of 
agony, Marie threw her arms around M. 
Luzerne, exclaiming : — 

God! mon jpere, my only ^friend, 
dead I Oh, I cannot give you up. Yoh 
were all I had left me in the world ; come 
back to me ; _oh, come back to me ! ” and poor 
Marie, completely exhausted by this sorrow, 
in addition to that which she had already 
endured, would have fallen to the floor had 
not Captain Luzerne caught her in his arms. 
Jean Luzerne, heartless as he had ever been, 
was deeply affected by his wife’s distress, 
and if Marie Luzerne had only been cog- 
nizant of the fact, she could then and there 
have reclaimed him, and her rival’s chain' 
would have been forever broken. But ah I 
fatal infatuation — that dream of fliidiug 
perfection in her fellow-being in the heart 
of Marie Luzerne, the knowledge she had 


140 


marie’s mistake. 


but that evening obtained in regard to her 
husband’s true chararter, these two circum- 
stances rendered it imp.ossible for Marie 
to receive her husband’s silent offer of his 
heart and of reconciliation, as she should 
have done, and the offer, the opportunity, 
would never again be hers. The happiness 
of her whole life hung upon the issue of 
that moment, yet the die was cast — the 
chances of bridging the gulf forever lost. 
O dead Camille ! thy prophecy of thy 
cousin is fulfilled; aged and dying Luzerne, 
thy fears for the happiness of thy son’s 
wife are realized. Poor, fanatical dreamei-, 
you deserve the pity of heaven itself ! 
Poor Marie, we can only hope when you 
turned coldly from a deeply erring but 
repentant man, that thy grief had so stupe- 
fied you that you did not, could not, 
realize what you were doing. Poor, silly, 
romantic girl, we will not condemn you, as 
you alone had to bear the suffering the is- 
sue of that hour entailed. Jean Luzerne’s 
proud heart will never recover from the 


marie’s mistake. 141 

shock it received when his wife turned 
coldly from him; his thoughts instinctively 
reverted to one who, with all her faults, 
loved him devotedly, and would sympathize 
with him in his trouble. Julie De Bourghe 
rejoice ; the bonds by which you hold Jean 
Luzerne have received additional strength 
from the events of this hour. * ^ 

But we left the asred father battlino^ with 

O O 

death, to narrate an incident which would 
have such immeasurable influence upon the 
happiness of the two principal characters of 
our story. 

In due time, Taylor Returned, accompanied 

by Father S . M. Luzerne was in perfect 

possession of his senses, yet it was very 
evident life was fast ebbing. 

And now, O reader, shall we even at- 
tempt a description of the death-bed of a 
Catholic, with the solemn pomp attending 
the ceremony of the last anointing of the 
clay tenement of the departing soul? As 
our thoughts revert to similar scenes, we 
have been so privileged as to have wit- 


142 


marie’s mistake. 


iiessed, we feel our utter inability to give 
anything like a correct description of this 
last solemn ceremony which the Mother 
Church prescribes for her dying children. 

Suffice that the last rite of the Church 
was administered, and, even while the chant 
of .the priest reechoed through the other- 
wise deathlike stillness of the apartment, the 
soul of M. Luzerne ascended to the God 
who gave it. 

Captain Jean Luzerne knelt in deep and 
sincei-e grief by the side of his father’s dead 

body. Father S recognized in him and 

the distressed wife,^the persofts whom he 
had united in marriage several months pre- 
viously, and remembered how disparagingly 
Gerald Clifton had spoken of Captain Lu- 
zerne. The kind heart of Father S- , ever 

prompting him to deeds of Christian charity, 
and which, in this instance, made him^ re- 
solve to try to influence the Captain to 
reform, to ever hold up his father’s almost 
blameless and spotless life as an example 
well worthy his imitation. 


marie’s mistake. 


143 


And as Jean Luzerne listened to the voice 
of the priest, whose deep interest in the 
object of his expostulations lent fervor and 
eloquence to his words, the erring man was 
almost sufficiently penitent to make a vow 
of reformation to the priest, when he chanced 
to meet the cold, pitiless face of Marie, who, 
Avith every thought and feeling engrossed 
with her grief in the death of her father-in- 
laAv, could not just noAV give a thought even 
to him who had, weeks before, when she 
had knelt, and in tears implored his 
love, and been refused ; Avho had so re- 
cently betrayed her faith, respect, and confi- 
dence ; in him who had, in short, dispelled 
the sweetest, most blissful dream of her life. 
She could not . forget all this ; she would 
not have been human; she^ would not have 
been woman, if she could have done so. 

But, oh, if that poor, young wife could 
only have permitted the bitter tears of her 
husband, his (for the time being, at. least) 
sincere penitence for. his. past misconduct; 
if she could only have allowed these con- 


144 


marie’s mistake. 


siderations to wash from memory’s page all 
the past, — and had she knelt by his side, 
and added her tears and entreaties to the 
expostulations of the priest, all would have 
been well. But, instead of this, as I before 
stated. Captain Luzerne chanced to meet the' 
cold, pitiless look of his wife ; the vow of 
reformation remained unspoken ; the tears of 
penitence were wiped away ; and the evil 
spirit reclaimed his own. Again the auspi- 
cious moment was forever lost. 

O Marie ! you have permitted your frail 
bark to be dashed upon the breakers of 
which your dead cousin gave you solemn 
warning. And did not he, who lies before 
you so still now in death, did he not tell 
you how futile was the hope, the dream 
you were so fondly cherishing, and which 
would prove such an enemy to your happi- 
ness? It is hard to reflect upon any act 
of one so severely tried by fate as our 
heroine, but the terrible mistake of that 
hour will overshadow with darkest clouds the 
remainder of her whole after-life. 


mahie’s mistake. 


145 


How singular, how almost incredible, does 
it appear that upon the issue of one brief 
moment may depend the happiness or misery 
of* a lifetime. How often is a soul wrecked, 
here and hereafter, by the following out of 
some idle dream or fancy. O woman ! try to 
follow the glorious examplc^^of thy Divine 
Lord, who is purity itself; who is perfect 
and holy beyond human couceptipn, yet who 
never turns a deaf ear to the pleading 
voice of a sinner of the darkest dye. And 
never, I implore of you, O woman ! turn with 
disappointment and loathing from one who 
fails to approximate to, or to realize, your 
ideal of human perfection. Do not permit 
any real or fancied strength and perfection 
of your own character to crush out pity 
and sympathy from your heart for the less 
favored of thy fellow-beings ; but let the 
very perfections of your own character in- 
spire in your heart ag^eper, purer charity for 
the imperfections of others. O woman ! thy 
influence is almost unlimited ; beware how 

you wield it. Your mission is a holy and 
10 


146 


marie’s mistake. 


all-powerful one. But we are too much 
given to moralizing ; we do not confine 
ourselves sufllciently to the relation of the 
story, but suffer our thoughts and feelmgs 
t()o frequently to wander from the simple 
facts, to comment upon what we do relate. 

We have thought it but just that we should 
offer every excuse for the profligate career 
of Jean Luzerne we could conscientiously, 
for, as we have not sought to paint 
his wife a paragon of perfection, neither 
would we create the impression that he 
was altogether base and unprincipled ; 
therefore, where we could offer any excuse 
for Jean Luzerne’s many faults, we have 
not failed to do so. Could Marie’s love 
have, as it were, stooped in that hour, 
instead of seeking to place the object of its 
adoration high upon a pedestal, so that it 
ca^ look up, while it kneels in humble 
worship, in blind id^try, to what is only 
faheied superiority, to only a creation of 
the imagination, well, — we will not con- 
demn where we are not the sufferer. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Perchance they follow, fair as dreams, 
The rosy morning’s flight, 

More immaterial than his beams, 

And lighter than his light ; 

» They sit upon the azure day, 

They float on twilight’s downy gray. 
And on the clouds at night. 

O deep and wondrous heart of man. 
Strange fount of joy and woe ! 

In this sad life no eye may scan 
Thy current’s ebb and flow ; 

But in the glorious world to come, 

The voice of discord shall be dumb. 
And thou thyself shalt know. 



]HE third day after the ^ death of 
Monsieur Luzerne, the stately funeral 
procession wended its way from 
the gloomy old mansion to the cemetery, 
where, with all the ' pomp and ceremony 
enjoined- by the Church, the body was de- 
posited in the vault where reposed the ashes 
of the once beautiful Madame Luzerne — she 
who had clouded and brightened, by turns, 
according as the mood of the capricious 
beauty dictated, the life of him whose body' 
would be placed beside hers and others of 
the family, who, like themselves, had died 


X 


148 marie’s mistake. 

far from their much-loved native land. 
Dear, sunny France ! how many of thy 
children sleep their last sleep on American 
soil ! Your grave, O noble Luzerne, will 
not be solitary; for hundreds of others, who, 
like thee, could boast of a proud lineage, 
have found their last rest beneath the soil 
of Louisiana, — De Soto, Tonti, Bienville, and 
many more, who fell before the sickle of 
the reaper Death in a strange land ; they 
bear thee company in thy dreamless sleep. 
Bequiescat in pace, * 

It would be impossible to describe the 
utter loneliness, the wretchedness, of Marie — 
or Madame Luzerne, as we must, in coii^ 
formity with the rules of etiquette, call her 
— after the funeral was over and she 
returned to her cheerless home. 

But the kind, charitable heart of Father 

S did not suffer him to forget one in 

whom he had taken so deep an interest. 
During the period which had elapsed since 
the death of her father-in-law until the day 
of the funeral. Father S had been almost 

\ 


marie’s . MISTAKE. 


149 


constantly in the house, and her distress 
called forth his deepest interest and syin^ 
pathy. After the funeral, finding out from 
Marie that she had once been an inmate 
of the Sisters’ school, on C Street, he called 
there, and received permission for some of 
Madame Luzerne’s old schoolmates to ^ visit 
her, among others, Josie De La Tour, and, 
on his return to the old house, was accom- 
panied by Josie. The meeting between the 
two girls was deeply affecting. But a few 
brief months ago they had parted, and the 
meeting brought up to both all the happy, 
sunny past, in vivid contrast to the dark, 
hopeless future and the almost agonizing 
present; for sorrow, even in that brief time, 
had blighted the young life of Josie De La 
Tour, and as soon as the period of the 
novitiate enjoined by the regulations of the 

Order of St. F had elapsed, she would 

take the vows and become a member of 
that order. Josie De La Tour was several 
years Madame Luzerne’s senior, and had 
been placed at school to study some branches 


150 


marie’s mistake. 


ill which her parents imagined she was defi- 
cient, and, as they said, learn some dignity 
from the calm, quiet sisters in whose charge 
she was placed. Madame Luzerne, as she 
gazed upon the almost faultlessly Beautiful 
girl, could not forbear exclaiming, — 

"Josie De La Tour, a nun! I cannot 
realize it ; you must be dreaming or jest- 
ing ; you cannot really wish me to believe 
you are in earnest. My own life, dear 
friend, seems dreary, miserable enough ; but 
to think of your voluntarily giving up the 
bright, glorious world you are so fitted to 
adorn, for the cold, cheerless cell of a nun ; 
oh, I cannot reiflize the terrible truth ; it 
seems to me perfectly incredible. But tell 
me, darling, how you were induced to consent 
to what appears, even to me, so terrible a 
fate.” 

^ ” Stop, dear friend,” exclaimed Josie; "you 

are wrong in supposing I have been influenced 
in deciding upon my vocation in this world. 
No one has in the slightest degree influenced 
me ; on the contrary, my family were at 


marie’s mistake. 


151 


first violently- opposed to my taking the 
vow, but finding, after a time, it affected 
my happiness so much, they gave a reluc- 
tant cousent:' I will tell you, mon my 

reason; and then, I am sure, you will com- 
mend me for the course I have taken. When 
I was about your age, while on a visit home, 
I made the acquaintance of a gentleman, a 
friend of papa’s — noble, accomplished, fas- 
cinating — learned to love him as woman 
loves but once in a lifetime. Everything 
progressed smoothly, and that love was 
suffered to grow and strengthen for three 
years# Three months ago, that is, about the 
time of your leaving school, papa came to 
the school for me, and I returned home 
with him. During vacation, a large ball was 
given, and papa and myself attended it. I 
had been dancing, and my partner in the dance 
had conducted me to a deep bay-window, 
and left, at my request, to procure a. glass 
of water for me. The heavy curtains con- 
cealed me from view^ and it was well they 
did, for I had not been there long when 


/ 


152 


mapje’s mistake. 


Paul Mar, the gentleman of whom I spoke, 
and who was my betrothed husband, stopped 
just opposite my place of concealment, and 
entered into conversation with acme acquaint- 
ance, who commenced rallying him in regard 
to his marriage with me ; and, Marie, I, an 
unwilling listener, heard his reply, which 
congealed the very current of my life. 

” ' JSTo, my friend ; there is where you are 
very much mistaken. I will acknowledge I 
did have rather serious intentions there 
once, but I have found out recently that 
•pere De La Tour has not sufficient of the 
necessary to give to the jewel a golden 
setting; therefore, I shall draw in my lines 
and change back ; ’ and the heartless creature, 
upon whom I had lavished the wealth of a 
heart’s deep love, was turning away, when 
some one of his friends remarked : 

"'But, Paul, how will you get honorably 
out the affair now, after three years’ devoted 
attention to your divinity ; how will you 
get out of the engagement, for, engaged you 
no doubt were, long since?’ 


marie’s mistake. 


153 


" ' Oh, yes,’ replied Paul ; ' I always 
have the luck of getting engaged, and never 
could carry on a flirtation successfully with- 
out implicating myself; but, in this instance, 
I hang my hopes of getting out of the 
afiair upon the fact of the girl’s parents’ 
ignorance of the engagement and her pride ; 
for, the moment she discovers from my^ 
manner I wish the afiair concealed, hejr 
pride will be up in arms in a moment, and 
the dismissal will come from her, you see. 
Well, it requires some finesse to manage 
these delicate affiiirs ; but, as this is not my 
first flirtation, I do not fear but I possess 
the requisite qualifications for getting released 
from the engagement, and a% yet, I have no 
13articular wish to break with Josie, for until 
some more desirable star makes its appear- 
ance, I shall continue her devoted lover. 
But, be assured, when I find the engagement 
is likely to interfere with my success in 
some other quarter ofiering golden attrac- 
tion, I shall make short work of the business ; ’ 
and with a laugh, Paul Mar left the neigh- 


154 


maeie’s mistake. 


borhood of my concealment, and fortunately 
so for me. I felt my perfect inability to 
meet him that evening ; and, when a moment 
after, my friend appeared, I drank the glass 
of water, and begged to be taken to papa, 
as I felt quite ill. The gentleman, alarmed 
at my deathly paleness, complied with my 
request. We returned home; and, dear 
friend, I will not attempt to describe to 
you my suffering, my agony, that night ; 
but Paul Mar had not reckoned too much 
upon Josie De La Tour’s pride ; and next 
morning, even before he had arisen from 
his sleep after a night of dissipation, he 
received a letter from me of dismissal, with- 
out my assigning any other reason than my 
resolution to take the vows. You, my 
friend, are the only one I have ever con- 
fided my secret to ; and I ask you, how 
could I go forth into society, and in time 
bestow my hand on some man to whom, 
however worthy he might be, I could never 
give my heart; for I feel how utterly im- 
possible it is to hope a new love could 


§ 


marie’s mistake. 


155 


ever spring up upon the ashes of the old 
love. The very intensity of my love for 
Paul Mar, all unworthy as I now know 
him to be, precludes the possibility of my 
ever loving again ; and why should I remain 
out in the world, between whom and myself 
there can be no sympathy, no congeniality? 
No ! I will join the order, and in deeds 
of charity, in uninterrupted devotion to our 
religion, I will seek oblivion of the past, 
and earn a crown 'of immortality hereafter. 

*^Do not permit my sad story to add to 
your unhappiness, my dear friend, for be- 
lieve me, I am not so very miserable. I 
shall become reconciled to that life which, 
no doubt, the will of God ordained for me 
and the calm, holy expression of Josie’s 
beautiful face precluded the possibility of 
unhappiness or trouble long affecting her 
perfect peace. 

’^Yes, beloved Josie, you‘ are right; you 
have chosen the better part. Far better 
is it for thee the peaceful, holy life of 
a sister, than to live in society, and in time 


156 


makie’s mistake. 


give your hand where you have no heart 
to give. Oh, there is something to me in- 
expressibly horrible in a marriage without 
love ! Thank God, Josie, you have had the 
fortitude to take that only step which pre- 
cludes the possibility of such a fate being 
thine ! Dear Josie, in the future, when, in 
some unguarded hour, an evil spirit may 
tempt thee to wish a happier lot than had 
been ^murs, crush that feeling from your 
heart, and on your knees thank God for 
sparing you the soul-crushing agony of living 
an unloved, neglected wife;” and Madame 
Luzerne’s agitation for the first time made 
Josie suspect her relations with her husband 
were not happy; for, be it remembered, 
society is kept in ignorance of the true 
character of its members — only the fair side 
is revealed; therefore was Josie De La Tour 
ignorant of the real cause of her friend’s 
trouble, but supposed her distress was occa- 
sioned by the death of Monsieur Luzerne. 
But the earnestness with which Madame Lu- 
zerne spoke led Josie to ask, — 


marie’s mistake. 


157 


*^You, surely, are not unhappy in your 
marriage relations j*" my friend? Although I 
have not the honor of a personal acquaint- 
ance with Captain Luzerne, he is, I know, 
a great favorite in society; and you are the 
object of no small degree of envy in the 
possession of so accomplished and fascinating 
a husband. I sincerely hope, dear friend, 
you have not met the fate you would so 
much deplore for me ! ” — and Josie affection- 
ately embraced Madame Luzerne, whom she 
had loved when a happy schoolgirl, and 
who was doubly dear to her now in her 
sorrow. 

” Josie, not even to you can I answer 
that question. I cannot but think that the 
confidence* of husband and wife should be 
sacred. Were I to confide the ^relations 
existing between my husband and myself to 
even yow, my most intimate friend, I feel I 
should, by so doing, create a gulf which 
could never be bridged over, but would 
evermore remain a yawning chasm between 
us. Because a husband permits himself to 


158 


marie’s mistake. 


forget the sacred vows he pledged himself 
at the altar to observe, is no excuse for 
the wife to forget or disregard the holy 
obligations which the relations she sustains 
enjoins upon her ; and, believe me, dear 
Josie, a wife commits a far more terrible 
sin than her husband possibly could, when 
she confides her domestic troubles to a third 
party. A wife, dear friend, should never 
have any other confidant than her husband. 
If she, in marriage, makes the fatal mis- 
take, as many do, and there is no sympa- 
thy, no congeniality, between them, and her 

heart is looking for sympathy, she still has 

one source of consolation — her religion and 
her confessor; and Heaven never turns a 
deaf ear to a sorrowing wife’s petition for 
strength to bear her cross.” 

^ "Forgive me, dear,” exclaimed Josie. "I 
spoke thoughtlessly. I will not seek to gain 
your confidence in matters which, as you 

truly say, should be sacred between you and 

your husband. But you will, at least, tell 
me that you love one whom all admire?” 


makie’s mistake. 


159 


” There again, my Josie,” replied Marie, 
" you are almost treading on forbidden 
ground ; but I will answer your questions. 
I do love Jean Luzerne as well as I can 
now ever love any person in this world. 
One week ago, I madly worshipped him, 
because I thought him a perfect tower of 
strength ; but now, that I know him capable 
of all the faults and follies of other men, 
my feelings are sadly changed. But think, 
dear Josie, I am as happy as the generality 
of wives ; and we will try to find a more 
pleasing topic of conversation.” 

Before Josie De La Tour could reply to 
her friend’s remark, the door leading into 
the adjoining room opened, and Captain Lu- 
zerne entered the room. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

Oh, never despond, whate’er there may be 
, To ruffle the surface of life’s broad sea ; 

Thy courage let not the angry waves shake, 

Harmless around thee^he billows will break. 

As across the spangled arch of heaven 
Clouds of sombre darkness oft are driven, 

So oft across the pathway of the soul 
Clouds of sorrow like billows darkly roll, 

ADAME Luzerne and Josie were 
both quite surprised to see Cap- 
tain Luzerne, for had they been 
aware of his proximity to them, their conver- 
sation would have been of a very different 
nature from what it had been. He did not 
appear very well satisfied with what he heard, 
for, seating himself opposite his wife, he 
exclaimed, — 

”I have not, believe me, been a willing 
listener to your conversation. I was in the 
adjoining room- asleep upon a sofa, when I 
was awakened by the sound of voices, and 
finally heard my own name mentioned, and 
heard Mademoiselle De La Tour’s' remark 
in regard to my position in society. But, 
Madame Luzerne, tell me why it is your 



V 


marie’s mistake. 


161 


feelings are changed. I know there is some- 
thing wrong. I felt that, the night my poor 
father died, and your words to your friend 
confirm the truth of suspicions. That 
night my father died, Marie, I would have 
given worlds to have been sure I possessed 
your love. But I have, from some cause, 
lost the jewel I unknowingly possessed. 
Now it is, I fear, too late to render myself 
worthy that priceless jewel — a true, pure 
woman’s love — without which all things else 
are worthless, Marie, my wife, can you not 
forget all my past cruelty and uukindiiess, 
and give me your love? Believe me, I will 
strive to be worthy of so inestimable a 
blessing. By your love for my father, I en- 
treat you to forget, forgive the past ; assist 
me in becoming all you would have me be ; 
and, with God’s help, you will find me a 
willing pupil. Beware— -for God’s sake, 
beware — how you answer : my soul’s salva- 
tion depends upon it.” And Captain Lu- 
zerne, the seemingly heartless man, who, but 

a few months since, cast his wife from him 
11 


162 


curie’s mistake. 


wlieu she knelt, imploring his love, now 
knelt, when too late, at her feet, and with 
burning tears implored her ?ov6,/her pity I 
Jean Luzerne, arise, exclaimed Marie ; 
“if you do love me — -^if you would ever 
hope for my love being yours again, never 
again sue for it in this abject manner. 

I did love you devotedly, unselfishly ; but 
that is past. I then believed you worthy 
of an, augel’s love. I looked up to you. 

I felt so utterly unworthy of your love, I' 
despaired of ever gaining it. But that time 
can never be recalled ; something lias trans- 
pired which had almost entirely destroyed 
my respect for you. What caused this 
change you must not ask ; you can never 
know from me. Would to heaven I could 
change myself — give my love where I 
cannot my respect — but that is impossible. 
But I promise you to be a sincere friend, 
to assist in every way in my feeble power 
to make you , what I once thoTight you ; 
,but, Jean Luzerne, the terrible shock my 
love has received precludes the possibility 


marie’s mistake. 


163 


of its ever blooming again in my heart. 
My pity, sympathy, and my undivided duty 
as a wife, are yours : ask no more.” But, 
notwithstanding her seemingly cold words, 
tears of j^ity fell from Marie’s eyes as she 
kissed the brow of Captain Luzerne. 

” Madame Luzerne, think you, cold 
sympathy^ such as you offer me, can ever 
reform a man so deeply steeped in sin and 
guilt as I am? Oh, I thought you could 
,give me the only love that could bring 

about this reformation, which fierce, passion- 
ate and steadfast, resembling the mountain’s 
torrent, sweeping everything from its path- 
way, and true, and deep, and unchangeable 
as old ocean itself; this is the love I ask 
of you ; this is the love I could give in 
return. Thinly again, it is not too late.” 
And Captain Luzerne arose, and taking the 
hand of his wife, anxiously awaited her 

reply. 

" Jean ! I implore you, ask na more that 

question. I cannot love you as you wish 

now ; I may in time. I could deceive you 


164 


marie’s mistaj^e. 


now, by falsely assuring you as you wish 
me ; but I caimot widen the gulf between 
us by speaking an untruth. For the pres- 
ent, at least, my decision is irrevocable and 
I will not delude you with what may never 
be realized iu the future. I fear I never 
again can love you as j^ou would wish to 
be loved — as I once could and did love 
you ; ” and never did Marie Luzerne appear 
more beautiful than at that moment, as she 
stood before her husband, her large, dark 
eyes swimming in tears. But, alas ! her 
beauty, her intellect, her hearty was of that 
pure,, ethereal, unapproachable nature, which 
could not bend from its lofty height to hold 
communion with an inferior nature. While 
she believed her husband pure and honor- 
able, she could endure his unkindness ; could 
hear with patience his terrible outlmrsts of 
temper. But now, the charm was broken ; 
his true character stood revealed to her ; and 
love had forever died out from her heart, 
unable to survive respect. 

''Well, it is useless longer to entreat you,” 


marie’s mistake. 


1G5 


exclaimed Luzerne ; " I onlj^ hope you will 
not live to regret the decision of this hour ! ” 
and Captain Luzerne left the house to go on 
board his ship, to brood over his troubles. 
But he would not long be alone there ; for 
soon Julie De Bpurghe would come to min- 
gle her passionate tears with his, and to 
make him, for the time being, oblivious of 
the painful interview we have just recorded. 
O wife of Jean Luzerne ! you should have 
been more earthly in your nature, more 
woman, and Jean Luzerne might, in time, 
have been all ypu could have desired him 
to be. But so completely enveloped in her 
own and her relative’s exalted ideas of 
honor, she could not realize this, and the 
fatal mistake was made ; and too late would 
Marie Luzerne realize ‘ the terrible result .of 
her decision of that hour. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, 

But in battalions. 

De La Tour, Tvho had wit- 
[ with painful surprise the 
5sing scene we narrated in 
our last chapter, the moment Captain Lu- 
zerne left the room, rushed across to where 
Madame Luzerne sat, and kneeling at her 
feet, implored her to recall her words — to 
permit her to call Captain Luzerne back 
again. 

” No,” replied Madame Luzerne, in answer 
to her entreaties. "I cannot do a wronsr — 
I cannot sp^^ak words my heart does not 
sanction, merely that good may come out of 
my so doing. You may think me puritani- 
cal dear Josie, in my ideas, provided I do 
not offer an explanation of the painful scene 
this morning. I will endeavor to do so; and, 
if possible, make you understand how per- 
fectly impossible it was for me to have an- 
swered my husband as he desired I should. 
I may be wrong; but I think had I, even 



marie’s mistake. 


167 


to satisfy him for the time, spoken falsely, 
I should have been forever unworthy his 
confidence or respect. You know me, Josie ; 
you know that I am not heartless, I am 
not unfeeling; therefore, you can realize how 
much it pained me, to answer my husband 
as I did. But, believe me, I could not do 
otherwise , and be true to honor and truth. 
I cannot give my reasons why and where- 
fore, without making a confidant of you in 
matters which I feel I should not confide 
even to a mother, had I been so blessed 
as to possess one ; but I can, dear friend, 
mention a case which I think analagous to 
mine. Could you, were Paul Mar to kneel 
at your feet, and implore the restoration of 
your respect and love, could Josie De La 
Tour place her hand in his, and tell him 
the past was forgotten ; that she loved and 
respected him as before the discovery of his 
real perfidious character?” — and Madame Lu- 
zerne looked searchingly into the face gazing 
upon her so earnestly. 

'*No, Marie Luzerne!” exclaimed Josie; 


168 


iiaeie’s mistake. 


you well know I could not say those words 
— speaking falsel}''. Where confidence and 
respect do not exist, it is madness and folly 
to think pure, holy, heaven-born love can, 
without these essential requisites to its life. 
Some persons will contend that I am wrong 
in this ; that woman’s love should be so 
strong, so faithful and constant, that it 
could survive the disgrace, dishonor, and 
worldly ruin of the object of its adoration. 
But I say to you, my friend, a love that 
can exist where respect and confidence are 
not, is no love at all, but mere animal pas- 
sion. While I believed Paul Mar noble and 
honorable, my love for him could have 
survived all the contumely, dishonor, and 
worldly ruin society could have heaped upon 
him. It would have followed him to the 
scatfold, and even been faithful after death ; 
but, the moment my confidence in him was 
destroyed, that moment love died out for- 
ever from my heart. Were I a man, I 
would have no faith in a woman’s truth or 
virtue who professed to love really and 


marie’s mistake. 


169 


truly, where she knew the object of her 
love unworthy her confidence and esteem.” 

"You have given expression to my own 
sentiments exactly, my dear Josie,” replied 
Madame Luzerne ; ” and although I cannot 
give you aix explanation of the motives for 
my conduct this morning, believe me, my 
friend, I was actuated throughout by princi- 
ples of honor and right. I believe, Josie, 
as I am confident you do, that good, pure 
women, .often love unworthy objects ; or 
rather, they love an ideal, and they them- 
selves, and the world give them the credit 
of loving flesh and blood ; for poor, romantic 
woman is so given to idealizing, that she, 
by her strong imagination, creates an object 
worthy an angel’s love and admiration, and 
she gives this mere ideality form and reality 
in the person of some man, to whom she 
bows down in humble worship and reverence. 
Sometimes the charm is not broken, the 
illusion not dispelled, and she lives, and 
finally dies, in happy ignorance of the 
truth, that she has not given her love to 


170 


marie’s mistake. 


flesh and blood, but only to an ideal — a 
mere creation of the imagination. O bliss- 
ful dream ! O happy delusion ! would that 
it had pleased heaven that you and I could 
have so lived and died ! ” , 

”But as it was not the will of heaven 
that your wish should be granted, my child, 
seek strength to bear your heavy cross and 
resignation from that heaven which you have 
invoked;” and, even before Josie and 
Madame Luzerne could turn their eyes in 
the direction of the door, they recognized, 
in the voice of the speaker, the sweet, 

solemn tones of Father S , who had 

returned to Josie, and entered the room 
unknown to its occupants, in time to hear 
the last remark of Madame Luzerne. 

Father,” replied Madame Luzerne, " I 
have, and will continue to obey your injunc- 
tions, to implore strength from heaven f other- 
wise I could not endure, with even the 
fortitude I have, the accumulated sorrows 
through which I have passed, and which 
burst upon me like some terrible avalanche, 


maeie’s mistake. 


171 


and found me so totally unprepared to en- 
dure its fury. But, father, you look unusu- 
ally serious ; has anything occurred to give 
occasion for it?” — and Madame Luzerne 
looked Jnto the face of the good old man 
with affectionate solicitude. 

" Nothing, my child,” replied Father S , 

has occurred but what I should have ex- 
pected, and therefore been prepared for; 
but still, the information I received this 
morning from your husband, of his inten- 
tion to take you to sea with him, does 
cause me some anxiety in regard to your 
future welfare. Will you, my child, be 
able to so successfully contend with yoiir 
hard destiny, when entirely separated from 
your church and religious influences?” 

” What difference can it possibly make,” 
replied Madame Luzerne, in answer to the 
priest’s question, "where I am? — whether 
upon sea or land, I can and will be a 
Catholic still. The powers of darkness can- 
not, shall not, make me forget my duty to 
my religion and my family. And then, 


172 


marie’s MIST.VKE. 


father, I will be in port at least once a 
month, and of course I shall, at such times, 
attend church. Do you not know, father, 
that my religion is a part almost of my 
very life ; and, do you know, I almost wish 
I were in Josie’s place ; but then it was 
not God’s will, and I must be resigned to 
my lot.” 

” And now, my child,” said Father S , 

as he arose to take his leave, must take 
Mademoiselle De La Tour back to the 
Sisters, and then return home, for I have 
been absent the greater part of the day ; 
but I will see you again before you go 
away, and possibly bring your friend again 
to see you.” And never did good old Father 

S bestow a more fervent blessing upon 

any one than that which he gave to Madame 
Luzerne in parting. 

'' Farewell, dear Marie ! and be of good 
cheer. Do not permit yourself to despond. 
You know there may be . some avenue of 
escape yet from this trouble and care which 
is weighing you down to earth. Try to let 


MARIfci’s MISTAKE. 


173 


deeds of charity, your duty to your fellow- 
beings, so eugross your thoughts that you 
canuot have time to brood over your sor- 
rows. Again, my sweet friend, farewell ; 
may heaven bless and make you happy ; ” 

and Josie De La Tour and Father S 

loft the house, and Marie Luzerne was again 
left alone with her destiny. • 

” Oh ! ” she exclaimed, ” would that even 
dear old m^mmy were here to help me bear 
all this trouble ; dear, faithful mammy, how 
I do wish you were here.” 

" An’ does my chile want ole mammy ? 
an’ if she does, ole mammy not sorry she 
cum, for all de sea-sickness and eberyting 
couldn’t keep her way nohow.” But long 
before the speaker could utter half the words 
we have recorded, Madame Luzerne had 
recognized her nurse, and was sobbing in 
her arms. 

* "Mammy, darling mammy, how did you 
get here; when did you corner ; and are they 
all well at dear old Seviere Place?” And, 
seating poor ^Id Eda, Madame Luzerne knelt 


174 


marie’s mistake. 


beside her with her arms clasped around 
her, as if fearful her treasure would take 
wings and vanish. 

”Dear chile, you is not one bit changed; 
you always like to question in dat way — 
all to once. First, dey is all well at ole 
massa’s dat’s libin’ ; you know, ob course, 
ole massa an’ missus done gone, an’ my 
po’ ole man, Jim, he dead, too — couldn’t 
bar massa’s deff. Den you wants to know 
how I cum. Why, didn’t Massa Captain tell 
you I was cornin’ ? You see, he done write 
Massa Tonie ’bout tree weeks ago, to let 
me come to you so soon as I could. I 
gits ready an’ cum; an’ here, you knows 
nothin’ ’tall ’bout it — dat’s mighty funny, 
chile ; ” and old Eda looked anxiously at 
her young mistress, as if she would there 
find out what she was desirous of knowiiiir, 
yet feared to ask — if her idolized Marie 
was happy. 

" Mammy, you must not ask me any 
questions in regard to my life since my 
marriage. My husband was wishing, no 


marie’s mistake. 


175 


doubt, to give me this agreeable surprise, 
and that was his motive for not telling me 
about your coming. I have two faithful 
servants here, Nina and Taylor; but I have 
missed you very much, dear old mammy. 
But you must remember never to interfere, 
if yofl see Captain Luzerne angry and hear 
him speak crossly to me, for he is usually 
kind; but your interfering would only make 
things worse ; ” and calling Nina, Madame 
Luzerne gave Eda into her charge, and she 
had scarcely left the room when Captain 
Luzerne returned. 


CHAPTER XVII. 




This it is to feel uncared for, 

Like a useless wayside stone ; 

This it is to walk in spirit 
Through the world “ alone.” 

moment Captain Luzerne en- 

# 

d the room, Marie ran to him, 
clasping his hand, in her old 
impulsive, enthusiastic manner, poured fortir 
her thanks for his kindness iil sending for 
Eda. 

” There, that will do, Madame Luzerne,” 
said he; ”I cannot receive your thanks for 
an act which now, could I recall it, I 
would not do. Eda is here because I sent 
for her, and she can stay; do not annoy 
me any. more now, and prepare to go on 
board the ship tomorrow. I am not par- 
ticular about your company, only I cannot 
leave you here without other protection than 
that of the servants ; ” and Captain Luzerne 
turned coldly away from his wife and 
passed on into the library. 

$ ''Why do I feel thus ♦toward that man? 



marie’s mistake. 


177 


Do I still love him?” exclaimed Madame 
Luzerne, the moment the Captain left 
the room. cannot account for the feeling 
of pain his coldness toward me causes. I 
do not love him ; yet I cannot receive cold- 
ness or neglect from him without pain 
amounting to agony. At last, I shall go to 
sea; be upon the glorious old ocean. But 
how selfish I am. I cannot take Mammy 
Eda with me, and it will give her afiec- 
tionate heart so much pain to part with me 
again. I cannot take mammy with me, for 
she dislikes the confinement of a ship, and 
she will sufier from ^ea-sickness ; and then, 
Nina has been to sea, and she would gladly 
go with me, and Lida and Taylor will take 
good care of Mammy Eda until my return. 
But it is time I was making preparations 
for our departure ; ” and Madame Luzerne 
went to her room and rang the bell for 
Nina. In a moment, the faithful girl ap- 
peared, when she sent for Taylor, and Lida, 
and Eda, and informed them of her intention 

to go away with Captain Luzerne on the mor- 
12 


178 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


row, and commending Eda to the care of 
Lida and Taylor during her absence. She 
partially reconciled Eda to the separation 
by telling her she wished her to assist Lida 
in restoring the house to order by the time 
she returned. To this, Eda replied ; — 

” Miss Marie knows ole mammy will do 
anyting she can, but it Spears to me like 
eberyting agin me bein wid you ebber any 
mo’ ; ” and the old woman left the presence 
of Madame Luzerne, to first find relief 
from her disappointment in a passionate fit 
of weeping ; next, to set about what would 
appear to a person of. a less sanguine tem- 
perament than Eda’s, a hopeless task, of 
restoring the old house to something like 
order; for, be it remembered, our heroine 
did not understand much about the myste- 
ries of housekeeping; therefore Lida had 
reigned supreme after the advent of her 
young master’s wife in the house, as she 
had done for many years previously. And 
Madame Luzerne, conscious of her perfect 
inability to very much better the condition 


makie’s mistake. 


179 


of affairs, did not think it worth her while 
to interfere or dispute her way; and the 
condition of the house can better be imag- 
ined than described, especially to a house- 
keeper — a southern housekeeper — - only too 
familiar with the careless, slovenly habits of 
negroes, renders a description of the general 
appearance of the house of Madame Luzerne 
superfluous. But the fortunate arrival of 
Eda gave to her young mistress a compe- 
tent and willing auxiliary in the onerous 
task of cleaning the old building from the 
accumulated cobwebs and dust of years. 
Eda only awaited the departure of Madame 
Luzerne, to commence the work before her. 
Some of the most critical of my readers 
may ask, from whom was the old woman 
to procure the money necessary to restore 
the .old building to comfort and elegance? 
Before we proceed further, we will answer 
that very reasonable question. 

Gerald Clifton was’ a lawyer, and was 
also acquainted with Antoine Lafourche, to 
whom he had written frequently in regard 


180 


marie’s mistaice. 


to the state of affairs since Marie’s marriage, 
and Antoine had commissioned him to see 
that his cousin had all that necessity de- 
manded, and, as far as possible, the luxu- 
ries to which she had been accustomed. 
But to assist Madame Luzerne, it was nec- 
essary to have Eda with her, because it 
must all be done secretly; and, although 
but a negro, both Antoine and Gerald 
Clifton had implicit confidence in her 
prudence and discretion. To Gerald Clifton, 
therefore, was old Eda to apply for the 
means of restoring the home of her young 
mistress to something like the appearance 
it had worn in the days when the mother 
of Jean Luzerne had lived and ruled there. 

But we will see our heroine well off upon 
the voyage before we enter into the details 
and carrying out of the plans for the com- 
fort and happiness of Marie Luzerne, con- 
ceived and brought into effect by her noble 
and generous-hearted relatives. 

Madame Luzerne sent Taylor to inform 
Father S and Josie De La Tour of her 


marie’s mistake. 


181 


proposed departure on the morrow from 
New Orleans, and had the pleasure, the 
morning she went on board the ship, of 
receiving a farewell visit from them. 

^'You must not, my child, forget your 
promise of being a good Catholic during 
your absence,” said Father S , in parting. 

Captain Luzerne informs me you will pos- 
sibly be absent some time from this city; 
that you go to Europe, and may make 
several voyages between New York and 
Liverpool before you return here again. If 
such is . the case, it will be some time 
before you return home again ; but, in all 
your troubles, never forget, that in perfect 
resignation to the will of God, in firm 
fiiith in the religion of Jesus Christ, there 
is a balm for every woe.” 

"I will not forget your injunctions, father, 
believe me,” replied Madame Luzerne, deeply 
affected by the sympathy of the priest and 
his interest in her happiness ; " and I will 
continue to seek strength and consolation 
from the only source from whence I can 


182 


siaeie’s mistake. 


hope to receive it. But oiice more give me 
your blessing; and will you not promise to 
sometimes remember me, when I may pos- 
sibly be at the mercy of the waves, in 
some terrible storm, far out upon the 
ocean ? ” 

" Yes, my child, never will I officiate at 
the holy mass without my sending up to 
heaven petitions for your safety; and, should 
it be God’s will that you find a grave 
beneath the mighty waters of the great 
ocean, believe me, if your soul does not 
find peace in heaven, it will not bo through 
any fault of mine; it will not be because 
I have not prayed to heaven for you ; ” and 
while Madame Luzerne knelt before him, 
the aged priest raised his hands and de- 
voutly invoked Heaven’s blessing upon her. 
^ The priest and Josie De La Tour de- 
parted, and Marie hastened her preparation 
for her voyage. At last, all was ready, and 
the farewells spoken to her faithful servants ; 
and, accompanied by Captain Luzerne, Marie 
went on board the ship, where, less than 


marie’s mistake. 


183 


five months before, she had made the fatal 
promise of becoming the wife of Jean 
Luzerne. 

The vessel that evening left the port, and 
next morning, Tvhen Nina called her young 
mistress, they were out of the river, and 
when Madame Luzerne went upon deck, she 
found that the noble vessel was ploughing 
the waters of the great Gulf of ^exico. 
The sun was shining brightly, and Madame 
Luzerne was almost as happy as when she 
roamed through the woods of Seviere Place. 
She was seated near the stern of the vessel, 
gazing out upon the great expanse of water, 
sparkling like diamonds in the glorious 
sunlight. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Another looming cloud sweeps on, 

Enshrouding from my eager view 
Tlie fancied smile, — the flashing star. 

And its pure home in boundless blue. 

S Madame Luzerne sat thus, lost in 
thought, oblivious for the time of 
every earthly care and sorrow, 
Henri ^Adrian, the purser of the ship, a 
noble, kind-hearted young man, stood look- 
ing upon her. • As he was standing study- 
ing the fair face of his Captain’s young 
wife, he was joined by the chief engineer, 
Mr. Murray. 

So completely absorbed in thought was 
Henri Adrian, that he was not aware of 
the presence of Murray until that individual, 
slapping him familiarly on the shoulder, 
exclaimed, — 

I « Why, Henri, are you in love alread” 
with our Captain’s wife ; or, is her beau 
so subtle in its power that it can entrance 
you so completely that you are oblivious 
of the very existence of your friends?” 




marie’s mistake. 


185 


No, Ned Murray,” replied Henri ; " such 
an idea as being in love with the lady you 
allude to never really entered my head. 
That dark, passionate, masculine-looking 
j^'oman could never inspire a sentiment of 
love in my heart, believe me ; but I was 
thinking what caused the sorrowful expres- 
sion upon the sweet, pure, truthful face of 
the young girl who is seated yonder near 
the bulwark of the ship. The expression of 
her face is unusual for a person so young 
as she appears, and it has awakened my 
deepest sympathy and interest. Who is she? 
do you know? She came on board with 
the Captain yesterday, and as he gave orders 
for her to have the best accommodations 
the ship afforded, I supposed she was some 
relative of his or his wife’s. But what are 
you laughing at? What have I said to 
occasion it?” — and Henri Adrian looked at 
his companion in surprise. 

"Why, Adrian, when you know the ridicu- 
lous mistake you have made, you will 
laugh,” replied Ned Murray. ' "Why, do you 


186 


mauie’s mistake* 


not know that that is the wife of Captain 
Luzerne sitting yonder? She is the niece 
of one of the wealthiest planters in Texas, 
or, rather, was, for her uncle is dead, and 
her brother is almost a millionaire. Whe^ 
the Captain married her, he supposed she 
would bring him a large fortune. You see, 
it was not a love match, on his part, at 
least. I cannot answer as to what motives 
influenced my proud little lady yonder;” and 
the engineer was turning away, when Henri 
Adrian stopped him by asking, — 

” But tell me who that woman is who 
occupies the Captain’s cabin. I thought she 
was his wife, for, if she is not, she should 
be. Your story shocks me beyond measure. 
I had no idea that Captain Luzerne was a 
person of the principle I can but infer from 
your remark he is. You know my acquaint- 
ance . with him is very limited, but his 
position with men in our profession, and 
even the best society, is an honorable one, 
so far as I ever heard, and it pains me, 
even thus early in our acquaintance, to 


mapje’s mistake. 


187 


clierisli a single doubt of his honor or truth. 
Oblige me, Murray, by answering my ques- 
tion, Who is the woman who last night 
occupied Captain Luzerne’s cabin, if the 
beautiful girl yonder is his wife?” — and the 
earnestness with which Henri Adrian asked 
the question betrayed his deep interest in 
the subject of conversation. With another 
laugh, the engineer answered : — 

''Why, is it possible you do not know 
all about this business? If you had been 
with Luzerne as long as I have, these ques- 
tions Avould have been unnecessary. Well, 
the woman you allude to is the mistress of 
our captain, and if he ever loved any one, 
it is her ; and I think it very fortunate that 
you have taken a fancy to the wife instead 
of the mistress, or you would have stood 
a pretty fair chance of being transferred to 
Davy Jones’s locker before this voyage is 
completed. As the case stands, it is my 
impression his honor will have to be im- 
periled, before he will manifest hostilities 
for any. gallantries toward his wife. I 


188 


marie’s mistake. 


should not be particularly anxious to rival 
him with the fair Julie, ' unless I cherished 
a wish to be made a dinner of by the 
sharks. But I know something about this 
affair, that I am sure not even Captain Lu- 
aerne is aware of. It is this : Some time 
since, for some trifling cause, he discharged 
Kingsley, the mate. Well, of course, Kings- 
ley and his wife did not bear the loss of 
his situation with patience, and a desire for 
revenge upon Captain Luzerne prompted 
them , to not only tell Madame Luzerne 
' about the intimacy of her husband and Julie 
De Bourghe, but Mrs. Kingsley positively 
went with Madame Luzerne to the house of 
Julie one evening, when the Captain was 
there ; and, of course, she knows all about 
the afiair, for Kingsley himself told me this. 
He further stated that Madame only went 
with his wife expecting to prove to them 
that they had misinformed her in regard to 
the business ; that Madame Luzerne fainted 
when she saw Julie De Bourghe in the 
Captain’s arms. I wonder if she knows her 


marie’s mistake. 


189 


rival is on board the ship ? ” and, as Mur- 
ray was turning to go forward, he confronted 
Captain Luzerne, who had undoubtedly over- 
heard the latter part of his discourse. 

” Gentlemen,” angrily exclaimed Captain 
Luzerne, *'my personal affairs seem to have 
been the subject of discussion between you, 
and, unwittingly, I overheard the remark 
of Mr. Murray in regard to Kingsley be- 
traying to Madame Luzerne my relations 
with Julie De Bourghe. Would to heaven 
I had known this before we left New Or- 
leans; but, even now, with your assistance, 
it is not too late ; ” and for one moment, 
good and evil seemed struggling for pre- 
dominancy in the heart of Captain Luzerne ; 
and the expression of his face gave evidence 
of the contending emotions in his heart. 

Captain, you know you have but to 
command, and I will serve you to the ex- 
tent of my ability,” obsequiously replied the 
engineer. 

"If I can render any assistance in sending 
this woman back to New Orleans, where 


190 


mapje’s mistake. 


she belongs, I shall be most happy to do 
so, and you may rely on my services,’’ 
exclaimed the noble young purser. 

"You speak boldly, young man,” replied 
Captain Luzerne, his face again slightly 
flushing with shame and anger; "but that 
was what I myself was going to propose. 
In a few minutes our pilot leaves us. 
Julie can return in the boat with him, or 
rather, she must return. You, Mr. Adrian, 
come with me, and I will introduce you to 
my wife. You must make an excuse to 
get her below in the cabin, while Murray 
and myself see the pilot and Julie safely 
on their way back to New Orleans.” 

In less time than it takes to relate it, 
everything was done that Captain Luzerne 
had proposed. Julie De Bourghe left the 
vessel, breathing vows of revenge against 
Captain Luzerne, and no one who looked 
upon that terrible passionate face could for 
a moment doubt her will to put her threats 
into execution. , After she was gone, as 
Captain Luzerne was slowly walking back 


marie’s mistake. 


191 


and forth upon the deck of the vessel, he 
was joined by Henri Adrian. 

” Thank God she is gone, Adrian, and 
never again shall my noble young wife 
have cause to doubt my love for her. And 
now I will explain to you how it was that 
I brought them both on board the ship. 
Several days ago, I happened to overhear 
my wife telling a young friend of hers that 
she no longer loved me, as she had pre- 
viously done. From some cause, I never 
appreciated my wife’s noble qualities of mind 
and heart until about the time of my father’s 
death ; since that time, the desire to possess 
her love has been paramount to every other 
feeling. The syren spell by which Julie 
held me captive was dispelled, and you can 
imagine my feelings when I heard the re- 
mark of my wife to her friend. I kneeled 
at her feet and implored her love, but she 
turned coldly from me, and now I am 
aware of the cause of her so doing. But 
her turning from me in the manner in which 
she did, made me, at the time, perfectly 


192 


marie’ 8 MISTAKE. 


reckless ; and on coming aboard the ship, I 
was joined soon after by Julie De Bourgho, 
and lent a willing ear to her entreaties that 
she might accompany me on this voyage. 
Thinking my wife had, without sufficient 
reason, given me pain-, I did not hesitate a' 
moment in consulting to Julie’s plan to 
come with me. But now I am only too 
thankful that she is gone before Madame 
Luzerne knew of her presence on board the# 
ship, and never, of my own free will, 
shall Julie De Bourghe and myself meet 
again; and, I will, with heaven’s assistance, 
yet make myself worthy of my wife’s love 
and forgiveness. But I fear it is too late, 
for I know she inherits the pure, exalted 
ideas of honor and principle which are 
characteristic of her family, and fear it is now 
useless to hope for her love ever again being 
mine ; but I feel now that I would rather 
have her pity and sympathy, than any other 
woman’s love ; ” and tears rolled down the 
cheeks of the Captain. And was this the 
heartless, unprincipled libertine of only a 


marie’s mistake. 


193 


few, brief weeks previous? Impossible! ex- 
claims some incredulous reader ; no woman, 
^ however spotless and pure she might be, 
could have, in so short a time, converted 
such a man into the weeping penitent of 
the time we are speaking. But such, dear 
reader, was really and truly the fact. 

, " Captain, my noble Captain, do not 

despair,” exclaimed Henri, deeply affected 
by the Captain’s distress ; ” you may yet 

succeed in gaining the love of Madame 
Luzerne. She is not heartless ; and when 
she is once confident that you are sincere 
in your desires to reforai, the past will be 
forgotten.” 

” Would that I could have faith in the 
fulfilment of your prophecy,” replied Captain 
Luzerne; ”but I know her nature now only 
too well. Her kind, sympathetic heart 
might dictate my pardon and restoration to 
the place I once occupied in her affections, 
but her reason and intellect will oppose it, 
and they will gain the victory over the 

heart. That priceless jewel, the love of 
13 


194 


marie’s mistake. 


my pure, darling little wife, is forever and 
hopelessly lost to me. But I thank you, 
Adrian, for your sympathy; and had I 
always associated with such men as your-” 
self, I might not now have been the unhappy 
wretch that I am.” 

" Captain, do not, I entreat you,” exclaimed 
Henri, " give up thus to this gloomy de- 
spondency. You can yet, by kindness, win 
your wife’s love, and by being strictly 
honorable and virtuous, regain your place in 
her esteem and respect; but here is a more 
efficient comforter than myself. Madame, the 
Captain is very low-spirited today; will you 
not exert your powers of consolation in 
putting to flight the unwelcome intruders?” — 
and Henri arose and oSered a seat by the 
Captain’s side to Madame Luzerne, who just 
at that moment came upon deck. Without 
waiting for her reply, Henri hastily left 
them, to go to another part of the ship ; and 
the husband and wife were alone together. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The lady’s heart aches but to weep, 
As clouds will ache with showers, 
Till forth some new emotions leap 
As sunshine comes to flowers ; 
She knew not angels long abide 
Such weary search with sadness. 
And when we put it all aside. 

They fill our souls with gladness. 


jlGAIN the evil genius of the young 
wife whispered in her ear that it 
was not repentance for past mis- 
deeds and unkindness to herself that caused 
his present sorrow, but grief at 



leaving 


New Orleans and Julie De Bourghe for an 


indefinite period ; and again would Marie 
Luzerne have turned coldly away from her 
husband ; but as she was preparing to leave 
the deck for the cabin, she met the look 
of entreaty upon the face of Henri Adrian, 
who had returned again to where they were 
sitting. When Madame Luzerne met tlie 
look directed toward her, of almost agonized 
entreaty, she returned, and, taking the hand 
of Captain Luzerne, kindly requested him 
to retire to his cabin with her, as some 


196 


jviarie’s mistake* 


of the passengers had come up from the 
cabin, and were promenading the deck. 
When the Captain and his wife disappeared 
within the tiny cabin, the young purser 
breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Oh!” exclaimed he, ''if she was less 
pure, less faultless herself, I would be more 
hopeful of seeing Captain Luzerne what God 
intended he should be, a noble, pure prin- 
cipled man ; ” and tears were flowing from 
the eyes of Henri, when he was accosted 
by Ned Murray, the engineer. 

" Hello, Adrian, what I weeping over our 
Captain’s short-lived repentance? Well, if 
you think his penitence will be permanent, 
I have given you credit for more sense than 
you really possess. Why, it will be the 
same thing over again, the moment we 
return to New Orleans. Julie and the Cap- 
tain will make friends again, I am confi- 
dent;” and the man, not finding the purser 
disposed to enter into conversation with him, 
walked away to the bow of the vessel. 
Ned Murray, although a very competent 


marie’s mistake. 


197 


engineer, was a man of little principle, no 
sensibility or refinement, and as a climax 
to his disagreeable qualifications, he was a 
person who was on very good terms with 
himself; and his fondness for spinning long 
yarns, in which he himself performed won- 
derful feats of daring, made him a perfect 
bore to his messmates. But Murray’s dis- 
gusting vanity and ignorant vulgarity did 
not permit him to see and understand the 
smile of incredulity, and the glances and 
ill-suppressed ridicule which ever greeted 
the conclusion of his tedious yarns.” No, 
as an old tar once remarked, ”he had spun 
his yarns so often, that he had come to 
believe them himself.” 

We have taken the trouble, dear reader, 
to render you acquainted with the character 
of this man, because we will have occasion 
ill the future to bring him before our 
readers. 

''Hello, Mr. Murray,” exclaimed the rhate, 
as he threw himself down upon the deck 
near where the engineer stood, "cannot you 


198 marie’s mistake. 

spin us a short yarn? We have a few 
minutes of leisure, and not wishing to sleep, 
we thought we would call upon you to 
entertain us ; ” and many were the sly winks 
and significant “nods” that passed between 
the old tars as Murray seated himself pre- 
paratory to commencing his story, while a 
self-satisfied smile overspread his countenance. - 
"Well, messmates,” commenced Murray, "I 
cannot think of anything just now of inter- 
est; but, did I ever tell you of the time 

when I was in ship H ? You see, I 

run mate of her then ; that was years ago. 
Well, once when we were in the New- 
Orleans and Liverpool trade, we had reached 
-midocean, upon our return trip, when the 
sailors mutinied, and refused to work any 
more. I was asleep at the time, but some 
one awakened me and told me of what was 
going on. I rushed on deck and found the 
captain there, white as a sheet, and shaking 
like a person with the ague. I told him 
to go below, which he immediately did, 
when I drew two revolvers from my pockets. 


marie’s mistake. 


199 


and told the men I would shoot the first 
man who refused to go to work and obey 
orders. I soon had everything going on 
smoothly, when I had the steward to give 
all the men a double allowance of grog. 
We did not have any further trouble with 
them during the voyage, and, indeed, in 
any of -the subsequent voyages we made 
together. For months after, the captain 
would tell passengers that my bravery and 
intrepidity saved his life, and prevented the 
ship from falling into the hands of mu- 
tineers.” 

/ 

" Gad, you must have been a devil of a 
fellow — but, ho-o-o, all hands aft to furl the 
main-sail ! ” and, with a loud laugh, the old 
tar trudged off to superintend the furling of 
the sail. 

Left to his own resources for amusement, 
Murray again sought young Adrian, whom 
he found still Seated near the bulwarks, 
apparently in deep thought f and just at that 
moment, could his own wishes have been 
gratified, Murray was the last person in the 


200 


marie’s mistake. 


vessel whose company he would have at 
that moment desired. At times, he almost 
heartily despised Murray, and more espe- 
cially did he feel his annoyance, when, as 
in the present instance, he desired to reflect, 
and would not willingly Have been disturbed 
by any one, especially by Murray. But the 
almost insulting coldness of his reception did 
not deter him from entering into conversa- 
tion with Henri. 

” Have you seen the Captain since you 
placed him upon the stool of repentance ? ” 
he asked in a loud voice, and laughing at 
the same time. " Why,” continued he, ” you 
should become a missionary, you are so 
successful making converts. But I should 
think, instead of looking so gloomy, you 
would be rejoicing.” 

Deeply annoyed by the man’s insolence 
and vulgarity, Henri replied : — 

"I do not flincy, Mr. Murray, that Cap- 
tain Luzerne wishes his private business, 
which concerns neither you nor myself, 
discussed here in public. You will there- 


maeie’s mistake. 


201 


fore oblige me by not alludiog to his 
affairs again, at least, in addressing me ; ’’ 
and casting a look of contempt at Murray, 
Henri walked away from him without giving 
him an opportunity of replying. 

And now, kind reader, we will enter the 
little cabin, devoted exclusively to the Cap- 
tain, and see how affairs are progressing 
between the husband and wife. For some 
time after entering the cabin, and seating 
themselves there, the silence was unbroken 
by either. At length, Madame Luzerne 
asked, — 

" Has anything occurred. Captain Luzerne, 
to render you unhappy, or to cause you 
trouble? If so, can you not tell m6?’^ 
for, be it remembered, Madame Luzerne was 
ignorant of the fact ^f Julie De Bourghe 

o o 

having been-^on board the ship. 

” Nothing has occurred, my dear Marie, • 
but what I should have surmised several 
days ago. But now that the knowledge has 
come, it makes me realize so acutely the 
wide, wide gulf between us — the fearful 


202 


marie’s mistake. 


chasm that separates me from your love ; ” 
and on his knees before her, with his arms 
clasped around her slight form, the Captain 
told his wife what he that morning discov- 
ererd in regard to her knowledge of his 
criminal, unholy relations with Julie. De 
Bourghe, and the whole history of their 
intercourse, and finally, of his now perfect 
hopelessness of ever again possessing her 
love ; and then burning tears of agony, 
wrung from his proud heart by distress, 
fell from his eyes upon the small, white 
hands of his wife. Antoine Lafourche, you 
should have seen Jean Luzerne at that mo- 
ment, and pity and forgiveness would have 

taken the place of hatred in your heart. 

Madame Luzerne was deeply afiected by the 
Captain’s distress, and for some minutes the 
romantic dream of her girlhood, the preju- 
dices of education, her disappointment in 
her husband’s not realizing her ideal of 
perfection, all seemed likely to be swept 
away and forgotten, in her earliest desire 

for peace and reconciliation between them. 


marie’s mistake. 


203 


and her yearning for love and sympathy. 
But the terrible, bitter disappointment was 
not so soon to be forgotten and forgiven. 

'' My dear husband,” at length she said ; 

I cannot, as I before told you, so soon 
forget the shock my love and confidence in 
you have received ; but, believe me, I re- 
joice in your repentance, and when we 
return to New Orleans, seek advice from 
good old Father S , and peace and com- 

fort will come to you very soon on your 
return to your duty in our holy reli- 
gion. If I do not love you quite so 
devotedly and blindly as once I did, the 
consciousness of doing right, will, of itself, 
make you happy; and then, if you are 
good, I shall be compelled to love you very 
dearly;” and smiling through her tears, 
Madame Luzerne imprinted a fervent kiss of 
reconciliation upon the lips of Jean Luzerne. 
A short time after, the Captain was called 
to go forward to attend to something in 
regard to the management of the vessel, and 
the young wife was left to commune with 


204 


marie’s mistake. 


her own thoughts ; and sad companions they 
were, too, at that moment. 

''It is very evident,” she soliloquized, 
that I will have ^ to bear the burden of life 
alone ; I cannot make him understand how 
perfectly impossible it is for me to love 
him as I once did. But I will, and must 
try to forget the past ; to assist him in 
his efforts to live a good and virtuous life;” 
and Madame Luzerne’s sweet, young face 
assumed a happier expression than it had 
worn for months past ; and when Jean 
Luzerne returned to the cabin, he could 
not understand how it was that he did not 
from the first love his pure, truthful little 
wife. 

The kin^ heart of Henri Adrian was 
filled with inexpressible gratitude that even- 
ing on beholding the Captain and his wife 
promenading the deck; his tall, noble form 
contrasting so agreeably with the' slight, 
delicate little creature at his side. 

" The sun was shining forth after the 
storm ; heaven grant ^they may have no 


marie’s mistake. 


205 


more clouds,” sighed Henri Adrian; and he 
went away to his lonely state-room, unable 
to witness the Captain’s happiness in the 
possession of one whom he had, even in 
their short acquaintance, learned to love — 
as persons of his temperament love but 
once in a lifetime. 


t 



CHAPTER XX. 


Your soul is full of future hopes, 

Which yet are all untried ; 

Mine is a sepulchre of those 
Which bloomed awhile, then died. 

The wings of Faith, and Trust, and Love, 

Are o’er your pathway spread ; 

While like the fruit of the Dead Sea, 

Mine lay in ashes — dead. 

will now, dear reader, return to 
d Mammy Eda, and see how she 
progressing in the almost hercu- 
lean task of restoring the home of her 
young mistress to something like order. 

Gerald Clifton lent his assistance and 
advice whenever they were called into 
requisition, and the work progressed rapidly. 
The house itself, a large brick building, 
with marble front, must have been mafrnifi- 
cent once, but now, through time and 
neglect, was sadly out of repair. But 
masons, carpenters, and painters, can work 
wonders; and in a very short time, the 
crumbling walls were repaired and painted; 
the fences and the wood-work of the inte- 
rior of the building restored to even more 



marie’s mistake. 


207 


than their pristine glory. The faded, moth- 
eaten hangings were torn from the walls, 
and replaced by more modern paper, of 
rich and elegant design. The first floor was 
divided thus : A side-hall passed through 
the house, and at either end of the hall 
were doors opening upon a gallery. Upon 
the first floor were the long suite of parlors, 
with their lofty ceilings, faded tapestry, and 
moth-eaten furniture. On the opposite side 
of the hall from the parlors were the 
dining-room and library. The immense din- 
ing-hall, with its quaint old pictures of 
hunting scenes, had been, with the parlors, 
almost entirely unoccupied for years, — the 
library being the ordinary sitting-room of 
Monsieur Luzerne and the Captain. The 
ancient carpeting of the library and parlors 
was now taken up, and after being relieved 
of the dust accumulated, were placed upon 
the floors of the chambers ; while their places 
in the parlor^ were supplied by Brussels, 
of the most exquisite pattern, and that of 
the library by an ingrain rich in color and 



208 


]viaeie’s mistake. 


of heavy texture. The furniture, of solid 
mahogany, was newly covered with rich 
crimson velvet by the skilful hands of 
workmen. The once beautiful damask cur- 
tains, with their silken linings now faded 
and defaced by long use, were taken down, 
and their places supplied by others rich 
and lovely as the former had ever been. 
Even the kitchen and dining-room were 
newly fitted up. and refurnished ; but that 
delightful old library, with its countless 
volumes of ancient lore, it, if possible, was 
rendered more charming than all the others. 
The shelves and books were, dusted, and 
many of the volumes were newly bound, 
and at last, all was completed ; the carpets 
down, books put in their place, curtains 
hung up, furniture newly covered, and the 
parlors and library did indeed present a 
magnificent appearance. 

One day, just before the completion of 
the work, Gerald Clifton called at the house 
to see how afiairs w^ere progressing. He 
was quite surprised to hear loud and angry 


maeie’s mistake. 


209 


voices in the dining-room. Pausing a mo- 
ment in the library, he soon learned the 
cause of the disturbance. 

Lida, the old negro woman we have 
spoken of in a previous chapter, who had 
held complete sway in the house for years, 
did not fancy the idea of being superseded 
now by Eda. Greatly amused, Gerald lis- 
tened to the following colloquy between the 
two candidates for power : — 

tell you what it is, ole nigga,’’ ex- 
claimed Lida ; "1 don’t like fur to be im- 
perlite to a visitor in de house, an’ dat 
one dat my young missus ’mended to my 
charge ; but right is right, an’ I tell you, I 
is allers bin use fur to have anytiug I 
wants ; an’, as you don’t belong bur, what 
fur you meddle ’bout tings what don’t con- 
cern you? I wants you to ’member, nigga, 
my missus lef you in my care as a visitor, 
an’ I wants you to ’have yersef ’cordin; so 
dar, dats all I is got to say.” 

''Why, nigga, a pusson to hear you talk, 
might tink you is somebody,” replied Eda; 

14 


210 


biakie’s mistake, 

" don’t you iinderstaii’ de difFereiice ’tween 
a nuss an’ a cook? Why, nigga, a cook is 
nobody ’pared with de nuss. Den you 
speaks ’bout my chile jes like . she ’longs 
to you. Don’t you know, I niise dat chile ; 
and when she went away, she tell dis nigga 
to see dat tings went on ’bout right ; an’ 
dis chile going to see dat tings is kep a 
little mo’ straight. Now, nigga, don’t let 
dis chile ketch you in dat storeroom any 
mo’, stealing sugar an’ tings out dar fur 
your nigga frens.” * - 

''Dar, nigga, you has-' sed nulT,” angrily 
exclaimed Lida. . " Don’t 3'ou know when 
-young lady marries, she belongs to de fam- 
ily dat she marries into, an’ so 3^00 has no 
claims tall upon her. Den I was alis fust 
here, and I tend to be so yet, cause my 
young massa will see dat I is ; so, ole nigga, . 
mine 3"our own business.” 

It is very probable the difficulty would 
have ended in a regular battle, but for the 
timely interference of Gerald Clifton, who 
persuaded them^ to take each her own sepa- 


marie’s mistaice. 


211 


rate department, and wait to have the ques- 
tions of superiority decided until the return 
of their master and mistress. At length, 
quiet and peace was restored, and Gerald 
Clifton could think they were striving to 
imitate many of their superiors among the 
white race. 

Sometimes, gentle reader, we have thought 
that it would be a glorious Hhing for the 
whites to establish rules and customs simi- 
lar to . those of the Indian tribes, where 
valor, honor, and courage, will alone give a 
brave preeminence over his fellows. 

The repairs we have mentioned, and the 
refurnishing and refitting of the old home- 
steadi Avas not accomplished for many 
months ; but at length, all Avas complete. 
We must not dismiss this subject Avithout 
relating one incident illustrative of the de- 
votedness of Antoine’s love for his cojisin. 
When the work Avas near its completion, 
he and Louise visited Ncav Orleans, bring- 
ing Avith them many of the books, trinkets, 
etc., from Seviere Place, which had once 


212 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


been Marie’s in her happy childhood. These 
Antoine had Marie’s own apart- 

ments, which had been magnificently fur- 
nished. Antoine and Louise visited every 
part of the house, and carefully noted any 
little defect in the arrange merits w hich had 
escaped the in such afiiiirs — inexperienced 
eye of Gerald Clifton. At last, just before 
the period ai*fived for the anticipated return 
of Captain and Madame Luzerne, everything 
was completed, even to the perfect satisfac- 
tion of the fastidious Antoine. He wrote a 
long letter to his cousin, in which he begged 
her to accept wyhat he had done as a wed- 
ding present, and to state to Captain Lu- 
zerne that he must view the matter in that 
light, and not take ofience at the otherwise 
unwarrantable liberty he had tiiken. Antoine 
Lafourche would have given much to have 
remained in New Orleans until the return 
of Madame Luzerne, and to once more clasp 
his little idol to his affectionate heart; but, 
remembering his last meeting with Captain 
Luzerne, and his, at that time, ineffectual 


V 


maeie’s mistake. 213 

efforts to gain an interview with his cousin, 
he thought he would, in all probability, be 
doomed to like disappointment again ; there- 
fore, just before the arrival of his cousin 
and her husband, Antoine and Louise re- 
turned to Seviere Place. Surely, will not 
Antoine Lafourche’s noble heart be happier 
for this act of disinterested kindness, which 
was, however, fated not to bring the much 
desired happiness and pleasure to the recipi- 
ents of it? We will again leave our friends 
at Seviere Place to the enjoyment of their 
peaceful, happy lives. 

To many, the life Antoine and Louise led 
at Seviere Place would have been very 
monotonous ; bi4r the good-natured, indolent 
Antoine, and the ever calm, quiet Louise, 
did not find it at all irksome, and their 
days and weeks rolled peacefully by. We 
will not have, occasion to refer again to 
the family of Seviere Place for some time, 
so we will, therefore, for the present, bid 
them adieu, and return again to the old 
house in New Orleans, and repeat some 


f 


1214 


•marie’s mistake. 


% 

remarks of the two old’ negro women, after 
the visit of Antoine and Louise. 

”Why, ole woman, dem your massa an’ 
missus? Why, you is from better family 
dan I give you de credit of. You* see, it 
was dis way Massa Captain’s wife, dat’s my 
young missus ; now she so young when she 
come, she no more dan chile, an’ oh course, 
she hab no style ’bout her, an’ how was 
dis nigga to tell ’bout de family? But* dis 
ole nigga is satisfied dat young missus’s 
family ’bout as good as ours, dat is massa 
Captain’s and Lida looked at old Eda with 
more than ordinary respect. But’ Lida’s 
newly-discovered respect for . herself and 
family did not have it^ desired effect upon 
the irascible old Eda, who angrily replied 
to her remark : — 

"'Why, you is crazy, ole woman, to talk 
’bout ’paring Massa Cappiu’s family wid dat 
of my little missus; why, you fool, nigga, 
don’t you know my little missus come from 
’way ’cross de water, whar dar is a king 
an’ ebber so many great people, an’ dat 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


215 


her fadder an’ uncle was most kings, too. 
An’ de ' idea ob you, mis’ble nigga, talkin’ 
’bout, your family bein’ ’most as good as 
dat if my young missus ; ” and old Eda’s 
look o^ indigi^tion was positively ludicrous. 
We^ -’will leave the old woman, with the 
oth^r characters of our story, and in the 
succeeding chapter seek news of our friends 
upon the briny main. 


i 


CIIAPTEE XXI.. 


Home, home, there is no home for me. 
No welcome smile of eyes to greet; 
No words of love to cheer my path. 
And thrill my heart with wilder Iteat. 



IE will not seek to •trace all the 
details incident to a sea-voyage, 
but will meet our voyagers on 
their homeward-bound trip,, jusj as they are 
entering the mouth of the great Mississippi. 
It was near sunset in the, evening, and 
Madame Luzerne sat upon the deck of the 
vessel, watching the setting sun; and after 
that had passed from her sight, she still 
gazed upon the bright clouds, which, bright 
and rosy as they were, their beauty was 
marred by dark masses, which, as the even- 
ing advanced, entirely obscured the rosy hue^. 

Emblematical of my ‘life,’’ sighed Ma- 
dame Luzerne ; ” it was thus my bright hopes 
and anticipations have been overshadowed by 
the dark clouds of disappointment. Oh, if 
the past could be blotted out, how I would 
rejoice in the prospect of once more seeing 
New Orleans and my home, gloomy as it 


marie’s mistake. 


217 


is ! ” — and Madame Luzerne sat lost in a 
bitter retrospection of the past, until the 
chill evening air called her back to the 
present, and Varned her to seek the cabin. 
Upon entering which, Madame Luzerne found 
supper awaiting her, and seating herself at 
the table, where Captain Luzerne had been 
for some time awaiting her, the meal was 
dispatched in almost unbroken silence. 
Nearly one year o'f this wretched life had 
passed away, and still it was scarcely less 
miserable than the commencement, to Ma- 
dame Luzerne. For while she loved Jean 
Luzerne, his temper, faults, and often cruelty, 
she could endure ; but now, when respect 
and love w^ere gone, at times it required all 
her fortitude and forbearance to endure the 
treatment to which Captain Luzerne often 
subjected her. Notwithstanding the Captain’s 
promises of amendment, his fiery temper 
frequently got beyond his control ; and then 
it was that his young wife’s forbearance and 
Christian meekness was called into requisition. 


218 


mahie’s mistake. 


Captain Luzerne, often tired of the quiet, 
monotonous life they led, and — do not be 
shocked, reader — longed for the society of 
Julie De Bourghe. So, you see, that the 
l)rophecy of Ned Murray, would in all 
human probability be fulfilled upon their 
arrival at New Orleans. How fallacious the 
hope of reformation in one who has spent 
nea]L’ly a quarter of a century in reckless 
folly and dissipation ! At times, so anxious 
was Captain Luzerne for some excitement to 
relieve their quiet life of its irksomeness 
and monotony, that he would have hailed 
the appearance of a storm with pleasure. 
Therefore, the prospect of returning to New 
Orleans, from whence he had been absent 
so long, was hailed with delight by Captain 
Luzerne. 

After supper, when Madame Luzerne arose 
from the table, the Captain asked her if 
she would not like to promenade the deck 
for a short time, as the moon was shining 
brightly. Henri Adrian had usually been 


marie’s mistake. 


219 


her companion in these evening promenades, 
but latterly, Captain Luzerne had become 
jealous of the attentions^ of the handsome 
purser to his young wife, therefore had ’ 
Madame Luzerne denied herself the pleasure 
of his most agreeable society. The noble 
Adrian, whose heart was the very embodi- 
ment of purity and honor, and perfectly 
incapable of conceiving or cherishing a 
thought toward his Captain’s young wife 
which chivalrous honor would not admit of, 
could not for some time divine the cause 
of Madame Luzerne’s coldness toward him. 
But at last, his doubts and perplexities were 
put to flight by engineer Murray whose 
evident pleasure in solving what had been 
a problem to Adrian relieved the recipient 
of his information of what might, under 
some circumstances, been considered an obli- 
gation. Murray’s low, animal cunning and 
vulgarity gave him great advantage over 
one like Henri Adrian, who, with his purity 
and honor, could not imagine or suspicion 
another of a feeling so low as the one his 


imarie’s mistake. 


220 


Captain was harboring toward his wife and 
himself. But as we before stated, Murray’s 
low nature enabled' him very readily to 
understand the state of affairs ; and, there- 
fore, the first opportunity, he commenced 
to banter Adrian about his conquest and 
the Captain’s jealousy. 

”You are surely wrong, Murray, in your 
surmises,” said Henri, in reply to his rude 
jests; "Captain Luzerne, with all his faults, 
cannot cherish so unjust and dishonorable a 
thought of either his wife or myself.” 

"Adrian, you certainly are the most ver- 
dant youth I have ever met with,” replied 
Murray, with one of his lond, discordant 
laughs. "Why, I don’t believe there is one 
on board the ship, who has not observed 
the state of affairs and remarked upon it, 
and yon still affect ignorance.” 

"I am under many, many obligations to, 
you for your information,” answered Henri ; 

" still, I cannot but think, were the truth 
of your statement so palpable to others, I 
myself would have before this become aware » 



9 


marie’s mistake. 


221 


of the fact ; ” and soon as possible, Henri 
relieved hiihself of tlie company of his 
disagreeable companion, which, under cir- 
cumstances similar to the present, was 
unendurable. 

After getting rid of Murray, Henri seated 
himself upon the deck, in the bright moon- 
light, but in a secluded place, secure from 
the scrutiny and intrusion of any chance 
promenaders of the deck of the vessel. 
His solitude was soon broken by voices, 
and there, in his concealment, poor Henri 
heard enough of a conversation between 
Captain and Madame Luzerne, to confirm 
the truth of the engineer’s statement. Long 
after they had retired to the cabin, Henri 
sat, almost stupefied by the shock the dis- 
closure had given him. The lights from the 
distant city and the dawning day did not 
arouse him, and neither did he realize tliat 
he had sat all night upon the deck of the 
vessel, until the noise and confusion incident 
to preparations ’ for anchoring the vessel. 
Tlien Heu^-i aroused himself, and calmly 


222 


marie’s mistake. 


awaited the hurry and bustle to over, 
that he might seek the quiet of the cabin, 
there to commence the struggle which was 
evident he must make to crush the love 
from his heart, the existence of which he 
had only become aware of for the first 
time the night before. Yes, incredible as it 
may appear, Henri had never even dreamed 
for one moment, that he regarded Madame 
Luzerne with other than warm interest and 
friendship might admit of, until he listened 
to the vulgar bauterings of Murray, and the 
conversation of the Captain and his wife. 
Now the veil, transparent as it had been 
to others, but which had until now proved 
effectual in deceiving both himself and Ma- 
dame Luzerne, was torn aside, and his pure 
heart was deeply wounded by the disclosure 
which revealed the deep, passionate lov^'e with 
which he regarded his Captain’s wife. 

At last, all left the ship but those who 
remained always on board of it. It was 
with pain, amounting almost to agony, that 
Henri watched the Captain and Madame 


I 


marie’s mistake 


223 


Luzerne leaving the vessel for their home 
on shore. He felt that the time was far 
distant when they would meet again, for he 
had heard Madame Luzerne remark that she 
would remain at home, possibly for some 
time ; therefore, the time or possibility 
of their meeting again was indefinite. 
Poor Henri ! yours is not the only heart 
which has felt the stings of disappointed 
affection. The heart of her whom you part 
with so reluctantly is only too much yours 
for her future happiness. Yet this knowl- 
edge has been rudely forced upon her, too, 
even as it was upon you. For, unconsciously 
liad Marie given her love to Henri Adrian ; 
unconsciously had she slightly swerved in 
her allegiance to her husband. Yet, she 
did not, could not, give him the love, the 
blind idolatry, which might once have been 
Luzerne’s ; and, after all, it is very possible 
her regard was only warm friendship, foi 
she certainly loved Captain Luzerne once, 
and we have no faith in the existence of a 
second love. Yet we believe women often 


> 



% 


I 


224 marie’s MIStAKE. 

love a second husband devotedly, but / it 
is where they felt only a calm respect 
and affection for the first husband. And 
very frequently, women live and finally die, 
without loving at all ; but that is because 
no one ever understood her suffiicieutly well 
to call forth her love. But once arouse in 
woman’s heart a deep, pure, passionate love, 
for the first and only time in life ; let the 
deep fountains you have called forth sparkle 
for a time in the sunlight of love ; then, 
by coldness, deceit, or treachery, quench 
that love, and it is gone forever. A person 
might lecture me upon the fallacy of this 
opinion until Gabriel sounded his trumpet, 
and I would still be unconverted and uucou- 
victed. Yet, as there are exceptions to 
every rule, why not to this? Therefore, I 
will mention one instance which I think does 
admit of an exception : — Where a woman 
has, from childhood up, breathed a perfect 
atmosphere of hypocrisy and falsehood in 
artificial society ; and, when she arrives at 
the age of womanhood, with the purity and 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


225 


truth of her heart so sullied, so coiit^imin- 
ated by contact with the world, — in an 
instance similar to this, we have perfect 
faith in such a woman’s capability of loving 
once, twice, yes, half-a-dozen times, in the 
fashionable acceptation of the term love. It 
was, possibly, most wisely ordained that our 
young friend should be tried by the fire, 
and come out refined and purified ; and the 
tempest of trouble and agony through which 
his heart was passing, would have the effect 
of uprooting any chance weeds which might 
have taken root there. The very suffering 
which the noble young man was now 
enduring, would discipline his mind and 
heart for an ordeal still more trying. 
But Ave will leave Henri for the present, 
and follow our friends, the Captain and his 
wife, and see how they like the changes in 
their establishment during their absence. 

15 




CHAPTER XXII. 


Adieu, my babe ! if life were long, 

This would be even a heavier song, 

But years, like phantoms, quickly pass ; 
Then look to us from memory’s glass, 
Soon on death’s couch I shall recline; 
Soon shall my head be laid with thine, 
And sundered spirits meet above, 

To live forevermore in love. 



E will now follow Captain and 
Madapae Luzerne to their home, 
and see how the improvements 
in the old mansion during their absence 
will affect them. 

The yard and exterior first made them 
almost doubt if their carriage had really 
brought them to their own home. But soon 
the appearance of the servants, and the 
joyful reception they received from them, 
dispelled their doubts ; and Madame Luzerne 
and the Captain entered the house only to 
have their surprise and astonishment re- 
newed by the discovery of the elegantly 
furnished rooms that there met their eyes. 

Who ! ” angrily exclaims Captain Luzerne, 
"has been making themselves so officious 


marie’s mistake. 


227 


during my absence with my house?” and 
a dark frown settled upon his brow. Ed a 
gave him Antoine’s letter, but it had no 
other efiect than to increase his ill-nature. 
At last, Eda, who had remained present, 
getting out of all patience at the Captain’s 
very unreasonable ill-humor, exclaimed^ — 

" Why, you see, Massa Cappen, my young 
missus’s family don’t like fur to see her 
lib in de ole house in de fix it was in ; an 
so dey has jus dared it up so it’s fit to 
lib in, cause dey know you is not rich 
’nuff yoself to do it.” 

Old Eda’s speech only inflamed Captain 
Luzerne’s anger still, and starting up, he 
exclaimed, — 

'' Madame, your family must have a strange 
idea of Jean Luzerne, if they think he will 
endure this continued insult and imperti- 
nence. They not only interfere with my 
domestic affairs, but even this pampered old 
negro Js here to insult me, too ; ” and 
Captain Luzerne strode toward Eda, and it 
is doubtful if the old woman would have 


228 


marie’s mistake. 


escaped from the room without feeling the 
weight of his strong arm, had not her mis- 
tress rushed between them, and she herself 
received the blow intended for the old nurse. 
Captain Luzerne, so perfectly under the 
influence of his excited temper as to be 
scarcely sensible of what he was doing, 
left the house without waiting to become 
cognizant of the wretched effects of his 
insane passion. 

Eda raised her mistress from the floor 
where she had been felled by the blow, 
and placed her upon a sofa. But when Eda 
saw that Madame Luzerne still remained 
insensible, she uttered a piercing scream 
that quickly brought Taylor and Lida to 
her -aid. They carried- Madame Luzerne to 
her own apartments, and undressed and 
placed her in bed!. It was some time 
before their united efforts could restore her 
to consciousness, and then it was" only to 
become aware of still more fearful agonies. 
A physician was sent for, but for three 
days ‘that frail life hung upon a spider’s 





]viarie’s mistake. 


229 


web. It was not until the next day 
that Captain Luzerne returned to his home, 
and then the terribl(r condition in which 
he found his wife really alarmed him. 

The third day, just when the physicians 
had despaired of being able to save the life 
of Madame Luzerne, she gave premature 
birth to an infant, which only survived its 
birth a few hours, and then its pure spirit 
returned to the God who gave it, but not 
before the holy water of baptism had been 
poured upon its sweet brow by the hand of 

good old Father S . Madame Luzerne 

had become conscious of everything that was 
transpiring, and there is no mother among 
my readers who cannot imagine her terrible 
agony in the death of her babe, far better 
than I can describe it. Even before its 
birth her every joy and hope in life had 
been centred in it; but when with its first 
feeble cry, the strong current of a mother’s, 
love surged so blissfully through her young 
heart, every tendril of her being seemed 
wound ' around that tiny life. And, oh ! 


230 


marie’s jmistake. 


to ^ive up that little one ! it was agony 
inexpressible. Yet it must be the angel of 
Death stood ready to bear the pure, little 
blossom back to the bosom of Him who 
has said, — "Suffer little children to come 
unto me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven.” 

And when, weeks after, Madame Luzerne 
was able once more to walk out, all that 
was left of her sweet dream of motherhood 
was the tiny casket, which had been placed 
beside that of his aged grandsire’s. O 
mothers ! you can realize, as you press your 
dear little ones to your hearts, the agony, 
the wild despair, with which that poor, be- 
reaved young ' mother clasped that little 
coffin to her aching heart, when she at last 
was able to visit the vault. 

^ I have sometimes thought that the most 
blissful period of a woman’s life is the 
moment when she receives into her arms 
her first-born babe. O mothers ! you who 
have experienced this enchanting feeling 
coursing through the heart, like a mighty 


i 


marie’s mistake. 


231 


flood, surely you can bear testimony to the 
correctness of my statement. And if this 
moment is the happiest of a woman’s life, 
surely the most terrible agony she is called 
upon to bear is that which she endures 
when her babe is torn from her by the 
ruthless hand of death. 

Captain Luzerne felt all the remorse im- 
aginable for the terrible deed which he had 
committed while under the influence of his 
angry passion ; but his repentance was of 
short duration, for Madame Luzerne was 
scarcely convalescent before her husband left 
^ New Orleans, to be absent several weeks, 
on a voyage to New York City, taking 
with him Julie De Bourghe, between whom 
and himself a reconciliation had been effected 
through the kindness of our friend Murray. 

It was well that Madame Luzerne did 
not love Jean Luzerne sufllciently well to' 
cause her the terrible pangs of jealousy. 
Had this weight been added to her cross, 
it would have indeed been unendurable. As 
the case stood, she was spared the fierce 


232 maeie’s mistake. 

# 

tortures such an ordeal would have occa- 
sioned her. Surely, of all the passions 
which exist in the human heart, there are 
none so terrible, so withering, blasting in 
its effects, as jealousy. And yet many will 
tell us, where devoted love exists, so must, 
of necessity, jealousy. If such be the fact, 
give us, O propitious Fate, a life without 
love. Wretched, Avorthless, as such an ex- 
istence would be, it is far preferable to all 
the golden sunshine and affection, with the 
green-eyed monster ever standing in the 
background, like a frightful skeleton in a 
doctor’s office. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


’Tis over ; and the rite, 

With all its pomp and harmony, is now 
Floating before her. She arose at home, 

To be the show, the idol, of the day ; 

Her vesture gorgeous ; and her starry head — 

^ No rocket, bursting into midnight sky. 

So gorgeous. When, tomorrow, she awakes. 

She will awake as tho’ she still were there — 

Still in her father’s house ; and lo ! a cell ! 

Narrow and dark ; naught thro’ the gloom discerned. 
Naught save the crucifix, the rosary, 

And the gray habit lying by to shroud 
Her beauty and her grace. 



lADAME Luzerne’s recovery was 
slow, and many were the weary 
hours she passed in her room, with 
no one but the devoted old Eda for com- 
pany. Josie De La Tour and Father S 

had frequently visited Madame Luzerne dur- 
ing her convalescence ; but the first time she 
went out after her illness, was when she 
went to witness her friend’s reception into 
the Order of St. F., and of her taking 
those irrevocable vows which bound her to 
a life of self-denial and charity. 

After the solemn ceremony was over, and 
Madame Luzerne had kissed Josie’s fair 




234 marie’s mistake. ‘ 

cheek, she started upon her return home. 
Upon arriving there, she retired to her room, 
and very naturally, her mind reverted to 
the scene she had just witnessed. As Ma- 
dame Luzerne reclined upon the sofa, and 
thought of the ceremony, she seemed almost 
to hear the pealing organ, the solemn 
chant, and to see before her the sweet face 
of Josie De La Tour, as she, with firm, 
unfaltering accents, pronounced the vows 
which would ever stand an insurmountable 
barrier between her and the world she had 
once loved so well, and w^ich her beauty 
and accomplishments so fitted her to adorn. 
And, AS the dreamy reverie gained still 
deeper ascendancy over her mind, she be- 
came oblivious to her surroundings, and saw 
herself clothed in spotless white, and stand- 
ing before the altar, as she had seCn ’Josie. 
And then, while standing there, her purpose 
seemed to falter; she had looked into the cold, 
cheerless, loveless future, and would have 
turned back, but Josie De La Tour was 
at her side, reproaching, reproving her for 


marie’s mistake. 


235 


fickleness, and telling her of the world — how 
false, how hollow, and fleeting its pleasures 
were; and then renewed courage filled her 
heart, and the ceremony went on. And, 
again, she saw herself fulfilling the duties 
of the Order. And Josie was there, too, 
as Mother Superior, noted for her strict 
discharge of religious duties, and for her 
stern, unrelenting exactions from others of 
like observance. And was this Josie De La 
Toflr? This proud, haughty, cold woman! 
Was this animated iceberg the once joyous 
girl, who flitted through the old school- 
building like a gleam of sunshine, warbling 
merry songs, sweet as those of the mock- 
ing-bird in the orange-groves of dear old 
Louisiana? Yes; this was Josie De Lii 
Tour, or rather, the transformation which 
contact with the enchanting world had made 
her. 

"What is it?” exclaimed Madame Luzerne, 
starting up ; ” have I been asleep and dream- 
ing? No! surely I saw it all. Dear Josie, 
will this vision be realized ? Can she so 


I 


236 


marie’s mistake. 


crush every human emotion, and become 
what I just saw her in my vision? Oh, im- 
possible ! friend of my happy childhood ! you 
must not change at least ; you, of all others, 
must leave me one dream, and must not 
assist the world in forcing upon me the 
bitter, terrible realities of life. The sweet 
dreams of my youth, one by one, have been 
crushed from my heart ; friends, whom I 
once idolized, have been taken from me. 
What have I left to live for? Nothing is 
left me but the memory of the happy past, 
standing like a mocking phantom, in vivid 
contrast to my wretched, cheerless future ! 
Oh, ni}^ girlhood’s friend ! hast thou not 
chosen the better part? You have abjured 
the world, and with it, all memories of the 
past; and in the future, in fulfilling your 
religious obligations, in the blissful privilege 
of living for others, you will be perfectly 
oblivious to any past sorrow; and the calm, 
peaceful, holy life you will lead, is surely 
not so terrible, after all, as the one in 
prospective which stretches out before me 


I 


marie’s mistake. 


237 






ill the dim vista' of the future, like a 
cheerless, barren waste, with no green shrub 
or flower, no ray of bright sunshine, to ' 
cheer or relieve it of its wretched monotony. 

But I, what have I to live for? What 
w^as I put into the world for? To assist 
in filling it up, to occupy space upon the 
earth’s surface as a rank weed or a useless 
stone ? 

This cannot be true; I must have a work 
to accomplish, and I have not sought it as 
earnestly, prayerfully, as I should. 

” Show me my work, O God ! Assist me, 
O Holy Mary, to fulfil my vocation ! ” And 
a fervent amen, that was uttered in response 
to the prayer that was unconsciously re- 
peated aloud, caused Madame Luzerne to 
start to her feet and look toward the 

door, where stood Father S , whom Eda 

had " shown to her room, as she had fre- 
quently done during Madame Luzerne’s con- 
valescence. 

"'Your prayer and wish, my child, are 
most commendable, and thus early do I 


♦ 


238 marie’s mistake. 

bring an answer to it. I have come to 
show you a field of labor worthy your 
talents, energies, and impulses. 

''You have, no doubt, heard that the 
blighting, blasting breath of civil war is 
sweeping over our land. This fact has 
opened a wide field of labor^for us, and 
we must not shrink from its performance ; 
or, rather, you must not ; for age, my 
child, precludes the possibility of my taking 
any active part in this work. But one 
whose spotless character has cast a perfect 
halo of glory upon our Order, will go 
with our troops to Virginia, where, no doubt, 
you, too, will go ; for Captain Luzerne will 
prove no laggard in the discharge of his 
duty to his country. 

"To this holy man will I intrust your 
future guidance in the sacred discharge of 
both your religious duties, and those equally 
binding upon you to your fellow-beings. 

"Of course, your frjends, your family, in 
time yourself, perhaps, will adopt and advo- 
cate the doctrine, ' Eight or wrong, with 


t 


marie’s mistake. 239 

and for my country.’ I can but think 
that this wretched business could have been 
arranged without the fearful ruin and blood- 
shed which is now inevitable. But it is 
useless speaking now of ' what might have 
been ; ’ the subject before us, is, as I said 
before, what is inevitable. 

"I foresee that fanatics will seek to carry 
everything to extremes ; and, believe me, in 
the abodes of the damned, no fiend there 
can suggest more desperate counsels than 
those adopted, under the guidance of our 
own violent and irresisted passions. We 
are plunged into all the horrors of civil 
war by the fierce passions and mad am- 
bitions of wicked, unprincipled men; our 
duty and work is plain before us; we will 
perform it untrammelled by the opinions 

and prejudices of others. And Father S 

paused, and seemed for a time to be peer- 
ing into the dim vista of futurity, before 
he marked out the for the perform- 

ance of deeds and acts which should render 
the name of his young protege immortal.” 


240 


IklARIE’S MISTAKE. 


" Father, you do indeed surprise me ! 
exclaimed Madame Luzerne. ” I have been 
so long confined to my room ; I have been, 
with the exception of yourself and the few 
friends who have called upon me, almost 
oblivious to all the world, and am in per- 
fect ignorance of everything that has been 
transpiring, therefore your information fills 
me with astonishment.” 

"I do not marvel, my child, that the 
news should astonish you,” replied Father 
S — 'Mor it burst like a lightning flash 
upon many persons whose paths lay amid 
the bustle and turmoil of life, and who are 
ever quick to inform themselves of every- 
thing calculated to affect the political or com- 
mercial interests of the country. But this 
conversation is delaying ‘my disclosing to you 
the real object of my visit. As I before stated, 
a priest will' go from here, whose course in 
life I directed until he had developed such 
wisdom, and his principles were such, that 
I could intrust the control of his life into 
his own hands without a single doubt or 


marie’s mistake. 


241 


misgiving, and the bud that gave such 
brilliant promise had expanded into a glori- 
ous flower. Yes, Father Francis — as he is 
named — from his purity and nobility, of 
character, is Avell worthy his priestly robes ; 
and none, believe me, ever adorned that 
holy character more than he, and without a 
single foreboding do I commit you to his 
guidance. And now, my child, kneel before 
this crucifix, the sacred symbol of our faith, 
and pledge me that you will devote your 
energies, your influence, and even your life, 
if necessary, to the best interests of your 
country, and to the cause of humanity. 
And do you promise me, Marie Luzerne, 
by this- sacred emblem, that never will you 
permit, for one moment, the prejudices of 
education, fanaticism, or party spirit, to 
influence you so far as to make you deaf to 
the calls of mercy? Eemember, if we, in 
this coming contest, forget the claims of 
charity; forget that Catholics will oppose 
Catholics; if we, I say, are deaf to the 

claims of charity, — it will shake the very 
16 


242 


marie’s mistake. 


corner-stone of onr Church here in America. 
Because, where heretofore all have been united 
and of one miiid, there will spring up dis- 
sensions innumerable ; it will cause Catholic 
to be arrayed against Catholic. But all this 
evil can be forestalled by every true Catho- 
lic permitting the claims of mercy to 
remain paramount in his or her heart to 
every other consideration. Even when you 
meet one arrayed in the uniform of the 
enemy — but whose situation appeals to your 
charity — then allow the sacred cross, em- 
blematical of the hiith of both, to remind 
you of your duty to a fellow-being, to God, 
and your church. To carry out these views, 
our Order sends Father Francis to Virginia. 
Will you go, too, . and prove yourself an 
able and most efficient adjutant?” 

It needed not the fervent kiss pressed 
upon the cross ; it needed not her vehement 
words of response to his appeal, to con- 
vince Father S that his appealing to 

Madame Luzerne had not been in vain. 

One look into her face; that was suffi- 


maeie’s mistake. 


243 


cient. O Faith, Patriotism I you could have 
fouud no more worthy priestess to officiate 
at your altar than that young girl, with 
fidelity, truth, and inspiration in every feature 
and expression of her face. Poor, unhappy 
America! could the pure, noble, unselfish, 
patriotic spirit have been infused into the 
hearts of thy sons, which burned like in- 
cense at the altar in the heart of Marie 
Luzerne, it would have been better for 
thee ! 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The night scowled gloomier down ; I could not throw 
From off ray heart the weary weight of woe, 

But loathed the world, and coveted to die ; 

Beholding only in the earth and air 
Omens of desolation and despair. 

T seemed as if, day and night, the 
pall of death ’ hung over the old 
Crescent City, so unbroken was 
the stillness which reigned there. Business 
was hushed, and the commercial world was 
at a stand-still — if we may be permitted 
so homely an expression — and it appeared 
to await some important crisis before resum- 
ing its bustle and briskness. The ships of 
every nation lay idly at anchor ; some with 
flags floating lazily in the gentle breeze, 
others with their crews lying in the shade 
of awnings, while others slept. About the 
street-corners, and in stores, saloons, and 
hotels, men might be seen, with ill-sup- 
pressed excitement, discussing some impor- 
tant topic of conversation.^ Intense excitement 
and anxiety mark the countenances of all. 
Even little children, who were accustomed 



marie’s mistake. 


245 


to congregate on pleasant afternoons in the 
squares, if they met at all now, their joy 
seemed constrained. They seemed to realize 
that the minds of parents and friends were 
filled with anxious forebodings ; and, for the 
present, at least, their usual sports, and 
shouts of careless, childish glee, would be 
out of place and ill-timed. 

But this portentous gloom and stillness 
could not long remain unbroken. Soon, 
only too soon, was the city to be aroused 
from its deathlike quiet, and by what? The 
thimderings of Sumter's guns, the accursed 
bugle-blast of civil war, which swept over 
our land like a lightning flash, arousing the 
demon of resistance in each Southern heart. 

Be South Carolina’s example good or bad, 
it is not for us to decide. Suffice that her 
secession was quickly followed by that of 
other of the Southern States ; and, as if 
the demon of destruction had indeed been 
unchained, all the horrors of civil war was 
upon us. 

It is not to be supposed that Louisiana, 


246 


marie’s mistake. 


with her excitable French element, with 
whom war is ever a favorite pastime, 
would delay very long in following the 
example of her seceding sisters. She did 
not; and the bonds that bound her to the 
old union were snapped in twain, as care- 
lessly and indifferently as if they had been 
brittle threads, and the fatal step was taken, 
which was to change the sunny groves of 
the South into battle-fields and her sons 
into soldiers. 

It is not our intention, O reader, to enter 
into a history - of the late war. There is 
not a little child in all the broad land, 
extending from New England’s rock-bound 
coast to the sunny banks of the Kio Grande, 
with whom the subject is not a perfectly 
familiar one. And there is nothing in the 
history of the past but sad, bitter memories, 
calculated to tear afresh wounds but par- 
tially healed. Therefore, in the course of 
our story, we shall only touch upon the 
subject where necessity in the narration of 
facts compel us, and then only briefly as 


marie's mistake. 


247 


possible. For, while we can with perfect 
sincerity give our commiseration to the 
widow, daughter, wife, or sister, mourning 
the loss of one dear to them, yet we, as 
a daughter of that land of ruined villages, 
devasted homes and cities, of course, we 
can but take a southern view of this pain- 
ful subject. For the ruined, desolated South 
was and is still dear to my heart as the 
life-current that gives me being; and I can- 
not Avrite upon this subject without advo- 
cating the principles for which my kindled 
fought and died. Could I dp otherwise, I 
would be unworthy of the sunny clime which 
gave me birth. Still, I hope I shall ever 
have the generosity not to intrude my opin- 
ions' and views upon others. The North have 
as good right to their opinions, for which 
they have sacrificed so much ; therefore, in 
our story, we shall not seek to resurrect 
a buried past. 

Antoine Lafourche had, almost at the 
firing of the first gun at Sumter, com- 
menced making preparations to enlist in the 


248 


iviarie’s mistake. 


cause of the South. Gerald Cliftou, although 
a Northern man by birth, had also warmly 
espoused the Southern cause, and, with 
Henri Adrian, was going with Antoine into 
the army, now rapidly collecting from every 
quarter. 

For some time. Captain Luzerne had 
seemed in doubt which side to take — his 
usual selfishness advocating the cause of the 
one most likely to succeed — but, finally, 
he concluded to raise a regiment from among 
the sailors, and take them on to the Capi- 
tol, and volunteer his and their services to 
the Confederate States. This plan he finally 
put into execution. Previous to leaving New 
Orleans, however, Captain Luzerne disposed 
of what property he possessed, and his 
interest in his ship. It was, therefore but 
a brief time from his return home, after 
his last voyage, to the period when we 
find him in the beautiful city of Richmond, 
and colonel of a regiment in the service of 
the Confederacy. Madame Luzerne accom- 
panied Captain Luzerne, taking with her 


marie’s mistake. 


249 


their servants. It was very painful to her, 
giving up the home which Antoine had 
fitted up with such affectionate thought for 
her comfort and pleasure. 

But Madame Luzerne did not have a very 
long time given her to think of, or to 
grieve over, the thought of leaving ^her 
home, for early in the summer of 1861, we 
find her in Richmond, where her youth, 
beauty, and accomplishments rendered her 
the centre of attraction. 

Few that met the wife of Colonel Lu- 
zerne — as we must now, in all courtesy, 
call him — could realize that she was indeed 
Madame ; so youthful did she appear, with 
her slight, graceful form, and childish ex- 
pression of countenance, Vhich contrasted 
so agreeably with the dark, and, at times, 
scowling brow of her liege lord. 

Colonel Luzerne was highly flattered by 
the enthusiastic reception his wife met with 
everywhere ; still, his pleasure was not alto- 
gether without alloy when he reflected upon 
the subject. He remembered how very lim- 


250 


marie’s mistake. 


ited was her knowledge of the world, and 
that very possibly her heart might pass into 
the possession of one of the many noble- 
looking officers who constantly sought her 
society, and who prized her slightest word 
or smile as one would a jewel of inestima- 
ble value. 

Yes, that heart and intellect was devoted 
unreservedly to her country ; and since the 
hour Madame Luzerne had knelt and kissed 
the crucihx, she had felt that she saw her 
earthly mission, now that she had entered 
upon it. But oh, she would sadly miss 

good old Father S , to whom she had 

said farewell with such an aching heart, for 
she feared she would never again meet 
him or hear his voice in solemn counsels, 
which had been so prized by her. In the 
future, surrounded by temptations on every 
hand, she must lean upon her own strength ; 
she must meet the cares, snares, and dan- 
gers of life alone ; for the only one from 
whom she felt she had the right to expect 
advice, was incapable of advising or di- 


makie’s mistake. 


251 


reeling such a heart and intellect as hers. 
To be sure, Father Francis had come with 
the troops, but she had not as yet become 
sufficiently well acquainted with him to seek 
assistance from a stranger in any of her 
difficulties, and thus her battle of life was 
fairly commenced. 

Ob, how can the world and society ex- 
pect so much at the hands of a woman ^ 
surrounded by temptations and snares that 
even men could not pass through unscathed? 
Unjust as it is, such is the case. Be 
watchful, therefore, O Marie ! thou art out 
now fairly upon the stage of life; the great 
world watches thy every movement with 
jealous eye. 

Oh, women of my native land, who are 
thus cast out upon the great ocean of life, 
and alone must buffet with the waves and 
tempest continually surging over it, you 
deserve the j^ity and support of the world, 
instead of its pitiless, uncharitable criticisms I 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“ Then as through life, thy footsteps rove, 
^Neath clear or cloudy skies, 

As richest blessings from above 
Thy faithful friends e’er prize ; • 

With joy they’ll make thy journey/ bright. 
With flowers thy pathway strew. 

And fill each moment’s rapid flight 
With pleasure ever new ; ' 

For, as rich gems from o’er the sCa, 

Or jewels ’yond compare. 

To human hearts must ever be 
Some friends who prove sincere.” 


ADAME Luzerne’s sojourn in the 
city, of Richmond was very brief, 
owin" to Colonel Luzerne’s re^i- 
inent being ordered to Northern Virginia. It 
is not' to be supposed that our heroine can 
pass through all the temptations and de- 
moralizing influences which ever follow in 
the footsteps of war, and still retain- her 
childlike simplicity and ignorance of the 
world. No ; this could not be ; the ser- 
pent’s trail was found in Paradise, and upon 
die tablets of the purest minds he leaves 
his impress. We would not infer by this 
remark that Madame Luzerne’s purity of 



marie’s mistake. 


253 


heart suffered by the contaminating influences 
by which she was constantly surrounded, 
and that she became a participant in all 
the dissipations of the Capitol. But this 
we do believe, that even had Madame Lu- 
zerne, pure, holy, childlike, as she was — 
almost sinless as mortal can be — even this 
pure being could not exist long, exposed to 
all the snares and temptations of society, 
without either becoming a misanthrope, or 
learning to look upon sin with more favor, 
and becoming constantly less shocked by its 
proximity. 

Think for one moment, reader, of a time 
when, in early youth, you too resembled 
our heroine ; of the first time sin, stripped 
of its allurements, and all unmasked, crossed 
your -pathway. Oh, with what loathing and 
horror you turned away, until your vision 
was relieved of the hateful presence ! The 
second time, you were less shocked, because 
you were becoming familiar with the dis- 
gusting visitant ; until, finally, you either sink 
to a level with the world, or you become 


254 


maeie’s mistake. 


a misanthrope, disgusted, and loathing your 
fellow-beings. 

Oh, I cannot understand why a heart 
yearning for purity and truth, can be^ sul- 
lied by contamination, and finally sink into 
infamy. What countless numbers, steeped 
in all the degradation of sin and guilt, but 
whose hearts daily fervently reecho the 
wish of Festus, — 

“ Would I were a pure child again, 

As ’ere the clear could trouble me ; when life 
Was sweet and calm as a sister’s kiss ; 

And not the wild and whirlwind touch of passion 
Which, though it hardly touch upon the lip , 

With breathless swiftness sucks the soul out of sight. 

So we lose it and all thought of it.” 

• 

" But what does all this prelude have to 
do with Marie Luzerne’s life?” exclaims 
some impatient reader. Much, very much, 
will it have to do with her life in the 
future. But sometimes the very abruptness 
of the shock with which sin heralds its 
approach preserves its intended victim from 
the poison of its fatal fangs. It so hap- 
pened in an incident connected with the life 


marie’s mistake. 


255 


of our heroine in Eichmond. Madame Lu- 
zerne had been introduced to a Major B , 

from a Southern city, who bore the repu- 
tation of being perfectly irresistible with the 

fair sex. By some chance, Colonel G , 

from the same place as Major B , and 

to whom the Major was indebted for the 
introduction, omitted to mention to his 
friend that Marie Luzerne was a wife. 
Colonel G addressed her as Mademoi- 

selle, and when she corrected him in the 
presence of his friend, gayly replied, — 
Mademoiselle, it is useless trying to 

deceive Major B , by telling him you 

are married ; that face of yours contradicts 
the assertion ; ” and before Madame Luzerne 
could reply, he led Major B to a dis- 
tant part of the parlors of the S Hotel, 

where they were all stopping at that time. 

A few minutes after. Colonel G re-' 

turned to Madame Luzerne, and taking a 
seat by her side, begged as a favor that she 
would carry on the deception for a few days, 
as he had an object in view in asking it. 


256 marie’s mistake. 

\ 

" Your request is a singular oue,” re- 
plied Madame Luzerne ; " but if you can 
show me a good reason for granting it, I 
promise I will do so.” 

"I cannot, just now,” continued Colonel 

G , '' state my object in making the 

request; but, believe me, I honor you too 
highly to ask anything at your hands that 
would, in any manner, compromise your 
dignity as a lady. The impression I created 
purposely tonight, that you were an unmar- 
ried lady, can be very easily continued, as 
Colonel Luzerne is absent, and you, being 
almost a perfect stranger, it is not probable 
that any one will undeceive him for a day 
or two, when my object will be accom- 
plished.” 

Thus entreated, Madame Luzerne made 
the required promise, and in a few minutes. 

Major B returned to her side, and did 

not leave her Again until late in the even- 
ing. Madame Luzerne was much pleased 
with his society, and for several days, 
encouraged by her innocent, childlike pref- 


marie’s mistake. 


257 


erence for his company to that of others 

by whom she was smToimtled, Major B 

was almost continually in her society. At 

length, one morning, Colonel G entered 

the parlor, where, finding Madame Luzerne 
alone, he requested her to make him still 
another promise. 

" What is it now, unreasonable man that 
you are?” laughingly asked Madame Lu- 
zerne. have found it no easy task, 

believe me, to fulfil my present obligation.” 

"This will not be so diflicult a task as 

the former,” replied Colonel G ; "but, 

first, allow me to explain what it is I would 

ask of you. Major B will leave the city 

' in a few hours,’ as his regiment has been 
ord^’ed away, * and, of course, he will 
come here to bid you farewell. I wish you 
to be in the adjoining parlor, which is 
almost unfrequented by the guests stopping 
at the house; order the servant to show him 
into that parlor, and you must be sitting 
near the door, at the far end of the parlor 
from here. Please, follow my directions; 

17 


258 


marie’s mistake. 


and now I must leave you, as I expect 
the Major to call every moment ; ” and Colo- 
nel G hurriedly left the parlor. Ma- 

dame Luzerne, after giving directions to the 
servant who attended to the parlors to 

show Major B , if he should call, into 

the upper parlor, retired there dierself, 
where she was very soon joined by the 
Major. 

” The fates are most propitious. Madem- 
oiselle,” he exclaimed, seating himself beside 
her. ”I feared you would not be alone, 
and I have much to say to you, as I must 
leave Richmond in a few hours. I love 
you. Mademoiselle, as I never before loved 
woman, but I cannot marry you, for I am 
a married man. You love me, I am confi- 
dent; why should we part? You can go 
with me ; no one will know you are not 

my wife but Colonel G , and he will 

not betray our secret. I know the knowl- 
edge comes suddenly upon you, but that 
makes no difference. You consent, of course, 
to go; do you not, darling?'' and the con- 


marie’s mistake. 


259 


ceited coxcomb took the hand of Madame 
Luzerne and pressed it to his lips. 

Madame Luzerne, from the moment he 
commenced speaking, had been so shocked by 
his base proposition, that she could not for 
some moments fully realize the meaning of 
his dishonorable proposal ; but, when he dared 
to pollute her hand with his impure kiss, 
it called all the pure, honorable Lafourche 
blood to her face, and awoke all their cour- 
age and principle in her heart. Springing 
to her feet, she exclaimed : — 

”How dare you, an officer, wearing the 
same uniform as my husband and my cousin, 
pollute my ears with such words as you 
have dared to speak to me today? Begone 
from my presence, and never again dare 
to approach any of my sex, until you can 
do so in all honor and truth. Eemcmber, 
all women are not weak enough to be 
caught by a dashing exterior. Go, and re- 
deem the past in the exercise of high and 
holy principles in the future, and thus seek 
to make the world better by your life.” 


260 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


The crest-fiilleii irresistible left Madame 
Luzerne’s presence, and she did what many 
other women would have done — hurst into 
tears. For the first time, she had listened 
to insulting words from tlie lips of man, 
and she felt as if the very fact of those 
words being spoken in her presence had 
cast a blemish upon her purity. Madame 

Luzerne was weeping unrestrainedly when 

# 

the door near which she was sitting opened, 

and Colonel G entered, and taking a 

seat, appeared deeply pained to find her so 
unhappy. 

"Noble lady,” he exclaimed, believe me, 
I would not have asked you to enact the 
part you have, and listen to this man’s 
insult — which, pardon me, I purposely con- 
cealed myself in the adjoining room to over- 
hear — if I had thought it would have given 
you so much pain. But it was for a good 
purpose I asked it all of you, and when I 
explain my motive, you will forgive me for 
the pain I have innocently caused you. 
Major B , although a good man in some 


marie’s mistaice. 


261 


respects, will no doubt prove an honor to 
the service in the first battle he is in; yet, 
notwithstanding all this, he is insufferably 
vain, and fancies every lady whom he meets 
is ready to fall down in humble adoratipn 
at his feet ; and, until this moment, women 
have, by their folly, strengthened this belief 
on his part. I thought him worth curing 
of his vanity, and when he requested an 
introduction to you, I felt I had found an 
efficient coadjutor in my philanthropic work, 
and therefore enlisted you in the cause. 
You have nobly vindicated the honor of your 
sex, and taken the conceit out of one whose 
worst fault is the one you have so mate- 
rially assisted in ridding him of. Now, 
Madame, am I pardoned? is my defence 

satisfactory?” And Colonel G stood, in 

mock humility, before Madame Luzerne, 
until she arose and gave him her hand in 
token of his restoration to her favor. 

Colonel G left the city that evening, 

the Major accompanying him. Some time 
in the year 1862 it was Madame Luzerne’s 


262 


marie’s mistake. 


fortune to meet Colonel G again, when 

he informed her that Major B had 

never forgotten the severe lesson she had 

tauglit him, and that it had effected a per- 
fect cure of his vanity ; and, furthermore, 

that Major B was rapidly rising in the 

esteem and confidence of the army and 

government. 

But poor Major B never liv^ed to 

return to the wife from whom his heart 
had strayed so often. He fell upon one 

of the many battle-fields in Old Virginia ; 
and, strange as , it may appear, the painful 

duty of informing Mrs. B of the Major’s 

death, by some chance, Madame Luzerne^ 
was called to perform. Ah, me ! strange 
things sometimes transpire in this world. 
Here was this man, who had polluted 
the ears of a pure woman with words of 
sin and insult, indebted to her for the last 
sad oflace a dying soldier asks of his com- 
rade — that of informing his friends of his 
death. Such is life. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“ I would not that my lips should speak 
A word to give thee pain, 

Or that should cause thee e’er to break 
One link in friendship’s chain ; 

For friendship is a sacred tie 
That human hearts doth bind, 

And blessed is he, though low or high. 

Who sincere friends doth find. 

But this one warning, pray you heed, 

Which now I give to thee — 

That all are not true friends indeed 
Who so profess to be.” - 
I 

S we stated in the commencement 
of our last chapter, Madame Lu- 
zerne. did not long remain in 
Richmond, but went with Colonel Luzerne 
to Northern Virginia, or rather, Northwestern 
Virginia, first ; from whence they were 
ordered, in a very short time, to Manassas. 
It would take a, volume many times larger 
than we design ours to be, to narrate even 
the principal part of the adventures and 
incidents which befell our heroine during this 
year, but we* have neither time nor space 
but for the relation of a very small part 
of them. 

Madame Luzerne was in the rear at the 




'^64 


marie’s mistake. 


terrible battle-field of Manassas, and heard 
the roaring of cannon and the clash of 
arms ; and, after the battle was over, the 

terrible sight that everywhere met her view 
would have inexpressibly shocked one of a 
less sensitive organization. But Madame 
Luzerne did not long permit her feelings to 
be a drawback to her making herself an 
al)le assistant to the surgeons ih their work 
of mercy; and with untiring energy did 

she labor with them, until the suffering and 
wants of the last wounded soldier were 
attended to. 

Madame Luzerne’s noble conduct had 

called forth the admiration of the army ; 
and when, some time after the battle, she 
went to witness a grand review, they re- 
ceived her with a perfect storm of applause, 
that the timid little woman was fairly 
/frightened, and turned to an officer*' who 
accompanied her, for an explanation. 

"Oh, is that all!” she exclaimed, with 
,her old impulsiveness. " 1 only fulfilled my 
vow ; I only did my duty.” 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


265 


''But few of us ever do our duty so 
perfectly and so nobly as you have in the 
last few days, my child ; ” and Madame 
Luzerne recognized in the speaker Father 
Francis, who had come up with her party 
111 time to hear her remark. 

" You, too. Father, appear to have joined 
in this conspiracy my friends have formed 
to make me vain ; and indeed, I do begin 
to think myself quite a heroine. But, Fa- 
ther, if you enter into this conspiracy, I 

shall report you to Father S when I 

ititurn home,” gaily replied Madame Lu- 
zerne, forgetting and unheeding the scowling 
brow of her husband, who had not been 
in the best possible humor for some time, 
on account of the enthusiasm his wife was 
exciting, and would have sent her to Kich- 
mond, only it would have been worse there, 
for he could not accompany her; and the 
thought of exposing her to the fascinations 
of the officers there, without his jealous, 
watchful eye being upon her, made the 
Colonel decide for her to remain with him. 


266 


marie’s mistake. 


Some time after the battle, as Madame 
Luzerne was passing through the camp of 
one of the regiments in the same brigade 
Avith Colonel Luzerne, she noticed a very 
small boy with a group of soldiers. The 
extreme youth of the boy, and his wearing 
the uniform of the regiment, attracted the 
attention of Madame Luzerne, and she ven- 
tured to address him. 

''What is your name, little boy? and 
surely you are not a soldier?” she kindly 
asked, patting the cheek of the little fellow. 

"They call me 'Little Dixie,’ and I have 
got so used to the name, and like it so well, 
I have almost forgotten the one mamma 
gave me ; and as to my being a soldier, 
I should think I was one, though the Captain 
would not let me go into the battle. The 
boys all know it was not from my being 
a coward, and that on that account he was 
afraid to trust me,” stoutly affirmed the 
young hero, his eyes sparkling, and his 
cheeks glowing with conscious bravery. Ma- 
dame Luzerne was much amused Avith the 


maeie’s mistake. 


267 


embryo soldier, and turning to some of the 
men, asked them concerning the child. She 
learned he was from Kentucky, and had 
run away from home and followed the 
regiment for over fifty miles before he 
came up with them. The greater part of 
the journey he had performed on foot. The 
Captain had written to his parents, and 
promised to take good care of him. 

*'But ah, Madame,’^ continued the soldier, 
although it would be hard to part with 
him now, we all know it is no place for 
him here.” 

Do you think it would be possible to 
induce him to stay with me? — I shall be 
near the army, and will care for him as 
if he were my own diild ; ” and the more 
Madame Luzerne looked at the boy, the 
more anxious she became that he would 
place himself under her protection. He was 
but eight years of age, of scarcely medium 
height, but quite stout and healthy, with an 
abundance of dark auburn curls, and an 
almost infantile expression of countenance. 


268 


I 

maiue’s mistake. 


" I do not know about that ; I am confi- 
dent the Captain would most gladly give 
him to you, but I do not believe he would 
consent to leave the company,” replied the 
soldier, in answer to Madame Luzerne’s 
question. Then, perceiving Madame Lu- 
zerne’s look of disappointment, he con- 
tinued, "but we will ask him ; perhaps you 
may exert some influence over him. Come 
here, Dixie ; this lady wishes you to go and 
live with her ; will you go ? She has no 
little boy, and wishes some one to travel 
with her, to take care of her.” 

For a few minutes, the bright, laughing 
face of the child assumed a thousrhtful 
expression, but in a very short time, he 
replied, — 

"I should like to go with you, but I 
cannot leave the boys. I will come to see 
you every day, and if you ever need any 
one to protect you, just let me know ; ” 
and the young hero drew himself up with 
a dignity that was perfectly ludicrous, when 
his diminutive proportions were considered. 


marie’s mistake. 


269 


Madame Luzerne tried in vain to dissuade 
him from his purpose of remaining with the 
soldiers, but all in vain ; and she was forced 
to be content with his promise of visiting 
her every day. 

The next morning, while they were at 
breakfast, Madame Luzerne was quite sur- 
prised to hear a childish voice warbling 
Dixie’s Land,” but in a few minutes Little 
Dixie appeared. The little soldier gravely 
saluted the officers present ; but, in answer 
to Madame Luzerne’s smiling welcome, he, 
for a time, forgot the dignity of the sol- 
dier, and gave free vent to the impulses 
of the child by throwing his arms around 
her, and imprinting a kiss upon her lips. 
Perhaps the little fellow thought of his 
mother far away in Kentucky, and tears for 
a moment dimmed his eyes ; but, hastily 
brushing them away, he exclaimed, — 

^ There, that is the first lady I have 
kissed since I left home, though the ladies 
in Kichmond coaxed me mighty hard to 
kiss them ; but I did not. But she is 


270 


imarie’s mistake. 


almost as sweet as oiir ladies,” and the 
boy looked admiringly at Madame Luzerne. 

"You had better -beware, my little soldier, 
how you make love to our Colonel’s wife. 
Are you not afraid of exciting his jeal- 
ousy?” laughingly asked Major Wheat, of 
the regiment, who sat at the breakfast- 
table. 

^'What do you say? Is she married? 
Wh}^ she would be no more than a child 
in my country. And is this Colonel here 
her husband?” asked the boy, with aston- 
ishment depicted upon his face. ” Why, who 
would have believed it? Well, old fellow,” 
continued he, wMking up to Colonel Lu- 
zerne, "I would just like to be in your 
boots, if I were a man. But you must not 
get jealous ; I will promise not to try to 
steal her heart, and will not kiss her but . 
once a day ; ” and Dixie bade them good 
morning, with all the gravity of a grenadier. 
Colonel Luzerne and the officers were too 
much amused with the little fellow to give 
* him up so soon, therefore, at their earnest 


marie’s mistake. 


271 


entreaty, Dixie remained a greater part of- 
the day. But when the drums beat in the 
evening for battalion-drill and dress-parade, 
no inducement would longer retain Dixie, and 
JMadame Luzerne saw him truds^ino: alonsr 
after his company when they went out 
to the drill. His uniform and gun, canteen, 
knapsack, etc., had all been given him in 
Bichmond ; and he prized them very highly. 

He fiiithfully fulfilled his promise to Ma- 
dame Luzerne, of visiting her every day, 
and scarcely a single dily passed without 
their meeting with some amusing adventure. 

One day, they had been roaming about 
the country, and being then Avith .the troops 
on picket, they w^ere of course quite near 
the Federal lines. Suddenly, they found 
themselves surrounded by a group of soldiers 
Avearino- the blue uniform. Madame Luzerne 

o 

Avas much frightened, but not enough so as 
to deprive her of her presence of mind. 
She reflected a moment, that if they found 
out that she was the wife of a Confederate 
officer, it was not probable they Avould let 


272 


marie’s mistake.* 


them return to the regiment. Therefore, she 
quickly formed a plan, which she determined 
to act upon. Giving the boy a look, she 
answered their question as to who they were. 

I live near here, now,” she replied, 
assuming as much as possible the speech 
and manner of the country people ; " but 
I ain’t lived in the neighborhood long, and 
we have lost our way. We was going to 
Mr. Harris’s ; can you tell us where he 
lives?” And had Madame Luzerne lived all 
her life in the backwoods of Old Virginia, 
she could not have had more the manner 
of one of the natives than she now as- 
sumed. The Federals asked her a number 
of questions as to the number of troops 
on the hills ; how many regiments, etc. ; 
all of which questions Madame Luzerne, 
under shelter of her assumed disguise of 
character, gave vague answers to ; finally, 
they permitted her to depart. 

''Will I come across any more soldiers?” 
she asked, as they were starting down the 
road. 


MAKIE^S mSTAKE. 


273 


replied the Federals, *^not if you 
keep the right-hand ]*oad ; but if you turn 
to the left, about a hundred yards from 
here, where the roads fork, you will soon 
find yourself apiong the rebel pickets.” 

Madame Luzerne hastened down the road, 
and we ^ may be sure she took the left-hand 
road, and soon found herself surrounded by 
the ^'boys in gray.” 

Madame Luzerne scarcely drew her breath 
for fright, until she was again in the Con- 
federate lines, for she had recognized in 
one of the Federals our old acquaintance, 
Ned Murray. How he came to be with 
them, Madame Luzerne never learned. She 
’was considerably changed since their last 
meeting, and her face was completely con- 
cealed beneiith an enormous ” sun-bonnet ; ” 
and if Murray did recognize her at all, he 
did not betray it. Notwithstanding all this, 
Madame Luzerne did not feel perfectly safe 
until she was again within their own lines. 

After that adventure, Madame Luzerne and 

Dixie were more guarded wherje they rambled, 
18 


274 


marie’s mistake. 


and Dixie especially ever after had a per- 
fect horror of going on picket. 

''Why, you see, boys!” he exclaimed, 
after relating his adventure ; "if they had 
only known I was a soldier, they might 
have shot me for a spy. I don’t suppose 
they would have hurt Miss Mamie,” — as 
he always persisted in calling Madame Lu- 
zerne, — " and then, she is only a girl ; they 
surely do not make war upon children and 
women ? ” 

For some days it was a favorite amuse- 
ment of the soldiers to get around Dixie, 
and get him to relate his adventure. Ma- 
dame Luzerne related what the Federals had 
asked her, and her replies to their questions, 
to the Commandant; and he very wisely, 
as it afterwards proved, took advantage of 
her information to prepare for an attack 
upon his lines. The precaution was not 
unnecessary, for a few hours after, a large 
force charged the hills. But the Confed- 
erates being forewarned and thus prepared, 
they were driven back with immense loss. 


marie’s mistake. 


275 


When Dixie was told that it was all through 
him and Madame Luzerne, that the fight had 
been brought about, he exclaimed, — 

Well, if I ever do tell you anything 
again, you may shoot me ; for they cer- 
tainly will, if they ever catch me again.” 
Still, notwithstanding Dixie’s resolution never 
again to act the part of spy, it was some- 
time before he forgot the first, but, alas I 
not the last, service he had rendered his 
country. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“ Yet, there are some in mercy given, 

To be to each a friend, 

And for this precious gift of Heaven, » 
Our grateful thanks ascend; 

Those who, when weary cares betide, 

And sorrow clouds thy sky. 

Will not thee scorn in haughty pride, 

And coldly pass thee by ; 

But, in thy hour of gnawing need, X 
Will come with strength to thee; 

True friends will prove themselves indeed — 
More than they claim to be.” 



ROM soon after the battle of Ma- 
nassas until late in the autumn, time 
passed with a dreary monotony 
that was almost unendurable to Madame Lu- 
zerne. Colonel Luzerne’s unkindiiess, which 
amounted at times to brutality, rendered 
her life wretched, and she gladly sought 
oblivion of her troubles, in alleviating, as 
far as was in her power, the sick and 
wounded soldiers. 

Time dragged wearily on, until finally 
about one month before the battle of Fort 
Donelson, Colonel Luzerne announced his 
having at last succeeded in getting trans- 
ferred to what was then called the Western 



>s 


• A 




.it' 




biarie’s mistake. 


277 


army, and his intention of proceeding im- 
mediately thither. 

It was with sincere regret that Madame 
Luzerne heard that she must part with the 
friends she had made in Virginia ; especially 
the thought of parting with Dixie, who 
had become so dear to her, pained Madame 
Luzerne inexpressibly. A few minutes after 
Colonel Luzerne had made the announce- 
ment of his intention of going West, he 
left Madame Luzerne alone. As she was 
sitting in a deep and painful reverie, it was 
broken by two little arms being clasped 
around her neck, and the rosy cheek of 
Dixie was pressed to hers. 

"Dixie, darling Dixie!” And then the 
4hoiight that they would so very soon have 
to part quite ' overcame Madame Luzerne, 
and she burst into a passionate fit of 
weeping. 

" Miss Mamie, just please stop crying, 
and tell me what is the matter with you ! ” 
exclaimed Dixie. Do you "know. Miss Ma- 
mie, I believe that old, cross Colonel keeps 


278 


marie’s mistake. 


you crying half the time, and the boys 
down in our regiment think so too ; but, 
if he does abuse you, he better not let me 
and the boys find it out ; ” and Dixie looked 
dangerously vindictive at the idea of any 
one daring to mistreat one whom he con- 
sidered under his protection. 

- My little darling, you must not even 
think such things, much less s;peak them to 
me,” replied Madame Luzerne. " You are 
too young to understand what you are talk- 
ing about, when you speak thus. Kemem- 
ber, I am Colonel Luzerne’s wife, therefore, 
you must never speak of him again in a 
disrespectful manner in my presence.” 

" Forgive me, dear Miss Mamie,” cried 
the little boy ; " I did not intend to offend 
you, but it makes me so angry to think 
any one should dare 'to treat you badly. 
And then the boys do not like the Colonel 
very much, and somehow I always get to 
feeling just like they do, in spite of my- 
self; for, you see, I would like to think the 
Colonel a jolly old fellow, for your sake.” 


marie’s mistake. 


279 


It is ever thus with children, and young, 
inexperienced persons ; they are influenced 
by their surroundings, in spite of them- 
selves, as Dixie expressed it. 

Madame Luzerne’s kind heart was deeply 
touched by the little fellow’s afiectionate re- 
gard for her. Drawing him towards her, 
she imprinted a kiss upon his pure, young 
brow, while she breathed a prayer that 
when next they met she might find him 
still as true and good as he then was. 
But, ah, who -can say what the future will 
bring forth? Had Marie Luzerne been gifted 
with foreknowledge, and had she only fore- 
seen the circumstances under which their 
next meeting would take place, how much 
it would have added to the misery of their 
parting. But the knowledge was denied her 
that would have added agony to her already 
deep gi-ief ; and thus Marie Luzerne and 
Little Dixie parted. 

Colonel Luzerne did stop but a day or 
two in Kichmond, and but a very few days 
after leaving the army of Virginia they 


280 


aiAEIE’S MISTAKE. 


were in Nashville, Tennessee. We must not 
forget to state that our old ftiend Eda had 
travelled everywhere witLr her mistress, as 
had also Taylor; Lida having remained in 
New Orleans. The command‘ to which Colo- 
nel Luzerne designed reporting was, at that 
time, at Eussellville, Kentucky ; therefore, 
leaving his wife and servants in Nashville, 
Colonel Luzerne proceeded there without fur- 
ther delay. Very reluctantly had the Colonel 
submitted to the necessity of leaving his 
wife in Nashville, but it was impossible for 
him to take her with him ; but consoling him- 
self with the thought, that, as soon as he 
was settled at Fort Donelson, whither the 
troops he belonged with were ordered, he 
should return for her. Colonel Luzerne set 
out for Kussellville. 

Madame Luzerne had been very much 
fatigued by her long and tedious journey, 
and was glad to get an opportunity of 
rest. But '' Vhomine propose, Dieu dis- 
pose'^ ” and thus it proved in the plans of 
Jean Luzerne, for but a very short time 


jmarie’s mistake. 


281 


elapsed before the battle of Fort Donelson 
and the surrender of the Confederate forces 
there. 

It was at the memorable battle of Donel- 
son that noble Buckner immortalized him- 
self. When it became evident to the Con- 
federate Generals (Buckner, Pillow, and 
Floyd), that they must either surrender or 
adopt * some equally desperate measure, 
Floyd and Pillow (if our information is 
correct), advocated their cutting their way 
out,” so to speak; but Buckner was literally 
opposed to such a course, involving, as it 
did, such a terrible sacrifice of life, and 
urged a surrender. To this. Pillow and 

Floyd would not consent to, each .having a 

very good reason for not wishing to fall 
into the hands of the enemy. Finally, 

however, it was so arranged that General 
Buckner should remain and surrender the 
fort; while the two senior officers sought 
safety in flight. To the entreaties of his 

friends, that he too would try to escape, he 
replied, — 


282 


marie’s mistake. 


” No ; I will remain and share the 
fate of my men.’^ And yet he was not 
certain that he would be looked upon, or 
treated, as a prisoner of war, having been 
concerned in some service for the South, 
which had rendered him peculiarly obnox- 
ious to the Federal Government. The names 
of Donelson and Buckner, are indissolubly 
united, and no Southerner can ever tffink of 
the noble, generous, self-sacrificing Buckner, 
without his heart thrilling with admiration for 
the noble spirit that will ever be a bright 
star in the glorious constellation of Ken- 
tucky’s heroic sons. Brave, patriotic spirit ! 
Many were the privations and dangers thou 
didst endure afterward, in the cause thou 
hadst espoused ; but no act of thine ever 
could have so touched the hearts of the 
people as thy conduct at Donelson. 


I 


CHAPTER XXVIH. 

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, 

O Priestess in the vaults of Death, 

Oh sweet and bitter in a breath, 

What whispers from thy lying lips ? 

NE day, as Madame Luzerne was 
sitting in the parlor of the hotel, 
she noticed two officers, who had 
entered some time before, intently observing 
her. Madame Luzerne looked earnestly at 
one of them ; two years’ time had made 
some changes, - but not enough to deceive 
the quick eyes of affection ; and, in another 
moment, Marie Luzerne was sobbing in the 
arms of Antoine Lafourche. Gerald Clifton 
could not Avitness the affecting interview 
between the cousins without being moved, 
and, brave soldier as he was, tears of sym- 
pathy ' ran doAvn his sunburnt cheeks. 

" O Antoine, darling Antoine ! do Ave 
meet at last?” And then the past, her happy 
childhood, her kind friends and beautiful 
home, all came up before her; and. 



E’en now, the past seemed her’s again.’ 


284 


marie’s mistake. 


But suddenly she recognized the gulf that 
separated her from her friends ; and drying 
her tears, she said, very calmly, — 

am wrong in thus giving Avay to my 
feelings, and rebelling against an uncontrolla- 
ble destiny. For one moment, dear Antoine, 
I was the happy child again, roaming tlie 
woods of dear old Seviere Place. Would 
that the past were mine to live overgigain. 
O Antoine I you can never realize what 
immeasurable wretchedness one moment can 
entail upon us ; how one mad impulse, 
yielded to, can blast our hopes, and curse 
our whole after-life. But, dear cousin, do 
not censure Colonel Luzerne. If we are 
not happy together, surely the fault was 
equally as much mine as his;” and the hard, 
firm lines that settled about the delicate 
mouth were distressing to witness in one 
so young as Marie Luzerne. 

Darling, it is useless to censure any one 
now, but it is unnecessary to attempt 
offering excuses for Luzerne’s heartless, 
brutal treatment of you. I have seen Eda, 


makie’s mistake. 


285 


and she has told me everything, and may 
Heaven’s curse come upon that man. He 
not only betrayed the friendship and con- 
fidence reposed in him, but even this I 
could^ have forgiven, had he treated you 
kindly. But his brutal treatment of you I 
cannot pardon, or permit to pass without its 
merited punishment.” 

" Which Jean Luzeri^ is not ready to 
receive from the hands of a meddlesome 
fool, and his inferior in rank.” Aud the 
party were startled by the sudden appear- 
ance of Colonel Luzerne. 

" So you thought me dead, or perhaps 
captured at Donelson,” continued he ; ” but I 
come back to find you interfering with my 
domestic affairs, and filling the ears of my 
wife with nonsense, making her think her- 
self very badly treated. As to your threat, 
I am ready to meet and answer it now, if 
necessary ; ” and Jean Luzerne, perfectly 
insane with passion, would have struck An- 
toine with the heavy sword and scabbard 
which he held in his hand; but again, the 


286 


marie’ » MISTAKE. 


blow intended for another fell upon the 
liead of his young wife. Colonel Luzerne 
did not wait to see whether he had killed 
his wife or not, but hastily left the j^^^idor. 
Antoine and Lieutenant Clifton, too ^luch 
occupied with the senseless girl, to notice 
for a moment her brutal husband, Jean 
Luzerne found no barrier to his exit from 
the room. 

An hour after, Antoine received the fol- 
lowing letter from him ; — 

"Nashville, , 1862. 

"Captain Lapourche, — I know the con- 
sequence of the act I committed this after- 
noon. I know that act entails ruin upon 
my prospects in the South, for wdiich I 
caniiot say I am sorry — least of all, to you. 
My heart never has been very much affected 
by the destinies and hopes of the South. 
My own interests are far dearer to me 
than the cause of the South. 1 would, pos- 
sibly, have to risk my life iiji a duel, and 
very probably be cashiered, if I remain and 


marie’s mistake. 2 S'? 

brave the future here. I am not mad fool 
enough to do this. I am sorry that I have 
not an opportunity of bidding you farewell ; 
but possibly I may have the pleasure of 
meeting you upon some battle-field, where 
the warm reception you will meet, will 
make amends for any fancied coldness in 
our present parting. You will find enclosed 
my bank account in Eicbmond. The money 
rightfully belongs to you, as it is the 
amount received from the sale of furniture 
in New Orleans, which you were so oblig- 
ing as to place in my house. Present my 
kind regards to your fair cousin, and to 
your friend, Gerald Clifton. When you 
receive this, dear cousin, I shall be with 
the ' boys in blue.’ 

” Respectfully thine, 

Jean Luzerne.” 

Early next morning, the following notice 
appeared in the city papers : — r 

” Yesterday evening, soon after sunset, the 
pickets at the northern boundaries of our 


288 


IVIARIE’S mSTAKE. 


lines were startled by the sudden appear- 
ance of a Colonel, whose intention of de- 
serting to the enemy was so unmistakable, 
that they fired upon him, after his refusal 
to surrender. The Federals came to his 
assistance, and our pickets were unable to 
capture the traitor and deserter; but he was 
undoubtedly mortally wounded, as the men 
saw him fall from his horse. For the sake 
of the noble family to which his wife be- 
longs, we withhold his name.^ 

"Further information states that the above 
deserter was undoubtedly killed.’^ 

Thus were* the chains of our heroine at 
last broken, and she was free, and with 
friends again. It was two or three weeks 
before she was restored to health. Before 
Madame Luzerne had recovered, the army had 
evacuated Nashville, and General Johnson’s 
tieadquarters were established at MurtVees- 
boro. About the time of Marie Luzerne’s 
complete restoration to health, Antoine 
received an order to go to Kentucky upon 


marie’s mistake. 


289 


business for the government. Captain La- 
fourche immediately set out upon his dan- 
gerous journey, taking with him Lieutenant 
Clifton, and (at her earnest request) his 


cousin. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“Oh that my mother’s arms were around me now, 

That her hand would linger one moment on my brow.” 

APTAIN Lafourche returned from 
Kentucky previous to the batlle of 
Shiloh and participated in that 
terrible battle. Gerald Clifton was also on 
the field. Immediately after the fighting 
ceased, Marie came with a surgeon to the 
battle-field and rendered material assistance 
in the care of the wounded. Soon after the 
battle of Shiloh, and while the wounded 
were even yet on the field, awaiting re- 
moval to Corinth, Captain Lafourche sought 
his cousin, who was assisting the surgeons, 
and informed her that a boy wished to see 
” Mamie.’’ So engrossed was Madame Lu- 
zerne with her work of mercy, that she did 
not for a moment think who the boy could 
be, when Captain Lafourche remarked, — 

" The boy informs me that you knew him 
in Virginia very intimately, and that he is 
called ' Little Dixie.’ The child followed 
the Fourth Kentucky regiment into the battle, 




marie’s mistake. 


291 


and before the soldiers even knew of his 
presence upon the field, he was mortaily 
wounded by a chance shot from the lines 
of the enemy. The surgeon who examined 
his wound informs me he can survive but a 
very short time. But let us hasten, my dear 
cousin, to the poor child, for his extreme 
youth and beauty, combined with his pres- 
ent suffering, and the sure prospect of so 
early and terrible a death, would touch a 
heart of stone.” 

Soon they were by the rude cot upon 
which rested the poor boy. Never did 
Marie Luzerne experience more acute agony 
than she did at that moment. Little Dixie 
lay upon his hard bed, his sunny curls 
matted with gore from a fearful wound just 
over the heart. His cheeks, but recently 
rosy with health, and careless, childish happi- 
ness, now pallid with the awful hue of 
death. The bright eyes, so lately sparkling 
with boyish glee, or flashing out from their 
glorious depths the noble courage, the purity 
of principle, the reckless bravery which is 


292 


marie’s mistake. 


ever characteristic of the sons of the dark 
and bloody ground.” 

There lay the youngest and fairest of 
Kentucky’s sons who had espoused the 
Southern cause ; his sweet, young life rap- 
idly ebbiug away with the crimson tide flow- 
ing from the ghastly wound in his breast. 

For a moment, his fast glazing eyes bright- 
ened when he saw and redbguized Madame 
Luzerne. 

”Oh, I am so glad, darling Miss Mamie, 
that you have come. I heard the Captain 
there speak your name to the doctor, and 
I wanted so much to see you. I am hurt 
mighty bad. Miss Mamie, and am sufiering 
so much; but I have not cried once. The 
doctor says I am every inch a soldier. I 
have seen so many of the boys die, and 
maybe I shall die, too, I feel so strangely. 
If I should die, write and tell mamma all 
about it; and be sure to tell her that the 
Captain Was not to blame that I got killed. 
Tell mamma that I was not afraid to die, 
that I never did swear once, and every 


marie’s mistake. 


293 


night I said ' Our Father ; ’ and now, Miss 
Mamie, let me kiss you once more. Don’t 
you remember, I used to tell you that you 
were not quite so sweet as the ladies at 
home in old Kentucky. You are, though, 
but I have not seen any others that were 
so. But I am so tired and sleepj^, kiss 
me good-night. Miss Mamie; and please, say 
' Our Father ’ for me ; ” and the poor boy 
lifted his little bloody arms, and clasped 
them around the neck of Madame Luzerne. 
Very gently she clasped him in her arms, 
and whispered to Antoine the request that 
he would quickly find Father J , a chap- 

lain she had met upon the battle-field. The 
good priest came, and administered the last 
holy sacrament to the dying boy. Marie 
Luzerne then repeated for him that sweet 
prayer of our Lord’s, and scarcely was it 
concluded, when, with one faint sigh, the 
little arms fell lifeless by his side, and the 
soul of Little Dixie left its frail tenement 
of clay for the better, brighter world. 
Madame Luzerne, with great difficulty, pro- 


294 


marie’s mistake. 


cured means of transportation for the corpse, 
and had it decently buried near Corinth. 

O Little Dixie ! you were the youngest 
and fairest of Kentucky’s noble sons, who 
offered up their lives upon the altar of the 
South; and, although there were many 
bearded warriors whose names swell that 
list to a fearful extent, yet there was not 
one heart that was with thine stilled in 
death which possessed more true courage, 
or genuine, native nobility of character than 
the young hero of Shiloh. Had you lived, 
little darling, the scarcely opening bud would 
have expanded into a glorious flower, that 
would have been another bright star in the 
galaxy of Kentucky’s gifted sons. 

After the battle of Shiloh, and finally 
the evacuation of that place by the Con- 
federate army. Captain Lafourche went with 
the army of General Bragg to Tennessee, 
and was in the terrible battle of Murfrees- 
boro. Gerald Clifton followed his young 
Captain everywhere, and even in the thick- 
est of the fight was by his side. 


marie’s mistake. 


295 


We have failed to name one of the most 
important characters of our story for 
some time, namely, young Adrian. He had 
entered the service as second Lieutenant of 
Captain Lafourche’s company, and caring 
more for the pleasure of the society of friends 
than promotion, had remained in the same 
position. Finally, Captain Lafourche had 
been promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel of his 
regiment, and Gerald Clifton became Captain 
of the company, and Henri Adrian its first 
Lieutenant. It was just before the battle 
of Chickamauga, and consequently about a 
year and a half after the death of Jean 
Luzerne, that Captain Lafourche, Lieutenant 
Clifton, and Lieutenant Adrian, visited Ma- 
dame Luzerne in Atlanta, where she was 
stopping at that time. Daring all those 
months that had elapsed since their last 
parting, the love Marie Luzerne had inspired 
in Henri’s heart had burned steadily and 
constantly, notwithstanding its seeming hope- 
lessness. Now they met, and she was free ! 

But would she smile upon his love? That 


296 


marie’s mistake. 


was a question that Henri’s heart often 
asked itself, but finally he had ventured to 
tell his hopes and fears to Captain La- 
fourche. 

''My dear friend, do not think me super- 
stitious, but I have a strange presentiment 
that in the coming contest I shall fall. In 
such an event, Marie will be entirely unpro- 
tected, far from home, among strangers. 
Believe me, nothing will give me greater 
pleasure than to use my influence with my 
sweet cousin in your behalf. I had hoped 
Marie would yet be the wife of friend Clif- 
ton, but now that I know you, I should 
not know how to choose between you; and 
then, I do not think Gerald will ever 
marry — ah! Gerald,” and Colonel Lafourche 
confronted Captain Clifton. 

" What prophecy was that you were mak- 
ing in regard to my future?” asked Gerald. 

"Why, our friend Adrian is deeply in 
love, and is imploring of me to intercede 
with his lady-love for him,” laughingly re- 
plied Colonel Lafourche. 


marie’s mistake. 


297 


Who — if I may ask — is the fortunate 
fair one who has succeeded in winning out 
noble chum’s heart?” • 

” Why, really, I suppose I can answei 
your question. Captain Clifton, as your legal 
knowledge may be required in the case,” 
gayly continued Colonel Lafourche. "You 
see, our ^'■oung friend is so anxious to be- 
come a relative of mine, that he requests 
my permission to seek the aid of Madame 
Marie in bringing about the much-to-be- 
desired relationship.” 

Poor Gerald ! it would have been better 
to have permitted that question to have 
remained unasked, than to endure the pain 
its answer elicited. In one brief moment, 
Gerald knew that he loved Marie, and that 
she was lost to him forever. But calmly — 
after one brief moment of inward struggle 
— he congratulated Henri upon his prospect 
of success ; and then he walked to his tent, 
to seek resignation to his disappointment. 

We, therefore, having enlightened our 
readers in regard to the object of our 


298 


mahie’s mistake. 


friend’s visit to Atlanta, will continue our 
stoiy. Upon their arrival in Atlanta, Colo- 
nel Lafoui’the and Lieutenant Adrian called 
immediately and were received by Marie 
with her old impulsiveness and vivacity. 
The past was almost forgotten, or if remem- 
bered at all, only as a dream. Thus we 
find, in our still youthful heroine, almost the 
bright little girl whom we introduced to our 
readers in the early part of our story. 

" Why, Marie, you are positively growing 
beautiful,” exclaimed Colonel Lafourche ; '' it 
is nothing to marvel at, that you are steal- 
ing the hearts of all the young officers in 
my regiment, not even excepting the grave 
philosopher Clifton, who blushes and turns 
pale at the mere mention of your name. 
But I have an engagement for just one-half 
hour, when I will return for you. Lieutenant 
Adrian. Au revoir, Monsieur and Madame ; ” 
and Colonel Lafourche, laughing, withdrew 
from the parlor. And in that brief half- 
hour was to be decided the destinies of 
two hearts. 


marie’s mSTAKE. 


299 


At first, Marie was frightened at the idea 
of her listening to words of love from 
other lips than those of her cousin’s ; but 
soon she grew calm again, and for the first 
time seemed to realize that she was free, 
and that Adrian loved her, and that from 
her first acquaintance she had loved him. 
At last, the weary heart had found rest; 
at last, had a just heaven rewarded poor 
Marie for her many weary months of sufier- 
ing. Had she ever loved Luzerne? Was 
this her first love? Most assuredly it was. 
Now was the sweet dream of her girlhood 
realized; at last, she had found human per- 
fection. Before the lovers realized the lapse 
of time, Antoine returned. At the earnest 
request of Colonel Lafourche and Lieutenant 
Adrian, Marie consented to the marriage 
taking place immediately. Therefore, on the 
very day upon which they were to return 
to the army, in the church in Atlanta, they 
were married. Father Francis, being in the 
city at the time, officiated in this, one of 
the most solemn ceremonies of the Church. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


I’ve fondly knelt at twilight hour, 

And breathed thy name in pray’r, 

When not an ear, save His alone, 

My trembling voice could hear ; 

When twinkling stars — like angels’ eyes — 

Gazed lovingly on me, 

I’ve knelt me in the mossy glade. 

And prayed, beloved, for thee. 

MMEDIATELY after the marriage, 
the three soldiers set out on their 
return to the army. Antoine’s 
parting with his cousin was agonizing to 
both. They seemed to realize that they 
would meet no more on earth. Marie clung 
to her cousin in uncontrollable grief, and 
her agony did not lessen his. 

Kemember, darliug, if anything happens 
to him, you have me to protect you; to 
live — yes, if necessary, to- die — for you,” 
whispered the noble young Adrian. 

know it, dear Henri,” replied Marie; 
''but you, who know, darling Adrian, can 
realize how terrible this parting is to me ; 
especially with this awful presentiment forc- 
ing itself upon mo that we will meet no 



marie’s mistake. 


301 


more. Oh I I feel that Antoine will give 
up his noble life in the coming battle, as 
I have seen so many before him. Henri, 
will you not make me one promise, the first 
I have ever asked at your hands? Father 
Francis will be upon the battle-field, and 
when you see sure indications of a battle, 
may I not come to you? You See, Father 
Francis will take care of me ; and then, if 
one of my loved ones should fall, will I 
not be there and have the mournful pleasure 
of performing the last sad offices for them? 
Will you promise, Henri? This is my first 
request, remember.” 

” You have my promise,” replied Henri ; 
”but I am sorry, my darliug, that the fulfil- 
ment of your request will entail so much 
danger and hardship upon you.” 

"I have your promise,” exclaimed Marie, 
joyfully ; now do not think of me in con- 
nection with dangers and hardships. Ke- 
inember, I am a soldier’s wfife, and must 
not. shrink from dangers, especially where 
duty and inclination call.” 


302 


marie’s mistake. 


Thus they parted. But in the dreary 
hotel at Atlanta, a few days after, Marie 
received the terrible summons that called 
her uj)on the battle-field of Chickamauga. 

The battle is over; the wounded are being 
attended to ; and all is bustle and confusion. 

Upon a stretcher rests the form of a 
noble officer. The surgeon who is standing 
beside him has just pronounced his doom ; 
and ill a few hours, nay even minutes, one of 
the last descendants of the noble house of 
Lafourche will bid farewell to earth, and 
rejoin those who have gone before. 

With the exception of the two little 
children, Marie and Louis were almost the 
last of the family; and Marie was (with 
the two children) its only representatives in 
America, as Louis had taken his wife and 
gone to France, as he considered it would 
not be very pleasant to be in a country 
where the waves of civil war were siir^in^* 
over it; therefore was Marie the only 
living adult representative of the family, 
or rather, she soon would be so. 


marie’s mistake. 


303 


'^Adrian! Where is Adrian?” exclaimed 
the dying officer; and as Henri bent, with 
tearless agony, over his suffering relative, 
Colonel Lafourche grasped his hand, and 
said, — 

"Listen to me, Henri. A few days ago, 
I committed to your charge one whom I 
loved more than my own life — more than 
all else combined — not even excepting my 
wife and children in far-off Texas. For 
Marie had, from the first hour I received 
her in my arms, become a part of my life. 
Yet my love for her was pure, as it was 
deep and constant ; no breath of passion 
came to mar, with its blighting, the holy 
flowers of affection. My darling became a 
part of my very existence. To watch the 
glorious child expanding into womanhood, 
without losing the natural childlike graces 
of mind and heart, and, above all, her^ 
truthfulness, was my chief delight. 

”But I made one mistake. I permitted 
her to grow up with perfect faith and con- 
fidence in her fellow-beings, and it was this 


304 


maeie’s mistake. 


that came so nearly wrecking her happiness 
for life. For, had she not had implicit faith 
in man’s honor, she could never have been 
duped into that wretched marriage. But it 
is all past now. I mention her only 
fault to tell you it was my own mistake ; 
for to me she was like pure wax, and I 
could mould her young heart at will, so 
easy was it to take impressions. 

"In justice, Marie should have half the 
estate Louis holds in right of his father’s 
will; but I would never wish the mattei 
contested by law. If you both suiTive the 
war, and it ends successfully, you will not 
find your bride portionless, for there is a 
large sum of money in Eichmand, that I 
have placed there to hex* account ; you wif. 
find my bank-book with my papers. Bu*/ 
where is Marie? I do not see her?” 

< Marie, when the feeble voice of her 
cousin called her, knelt by his side and 
received his farewell kiss. And oh, believe 
me, reader, she did not it that moment 
regret that she had brarf/dl the terrors of u 


marie’s mistake. 


305 


battle-field, to have the mournful pleasure of 
being with noble Antoine in his last hour. 

Marie, listen ; one speaks who is almost 
beyond the pale of mortality. I seem to 
see your future life all plain before me. 
Do not start, sweet cousin, it will be one 
of trouble, short and terrible. Yes, friends, 
in a few brief months, not one of tbe name 
and race will live upon the soil of America. 
Yes, even my own little family will soon 
rejoin me yonder. Short as your life will 
be, sweet Marie, glory and honor await 
thee in the future ; they will light thy 
otherwise gloomy pathway and gild it with 
golden brilliancy. Be ever true and noble 
as yon now are; and remember, into your 
hands I commit the honor of the Lafourche.” 

The dying soldier’s voice had been gradu- 
ally growing weaker, and at last it was but 
a feeble whisper, and then ceased altogether. 
Adrian, who was supporting his head, was 
the first to observe that the noble' spirit had 
taken its flight. It would be impossible to 

depict the uncojitrollable grief of Marie, or 
20 


306 


marie’s mistake. 


the less demonstrative of that of Captain 
Clifton. 

Frequently do we see the words of the 
dying forgotten or all unheeded in after 
life. But the dying words of Antoine 
Lafourche would never be forgotten by his 
afflicted cousin. 

In pursuance of his own request, Antoine 
was buried upon the battle-field ; and there, 
with many another brave spirit, awaits the 
resurrection morn. 


CHAPTER XXXr. 


I’ve breathed thy name in strange delight, 

In midnight’s solemn hours, 

When clouds obscured fair Luna’s light, 

And muttering thunders roar, 

Or when no bolt from Heaven was sent. 

No sound fell on mine ear, 

My spirit bowed befoi-e God’s throne. 

To breathe thy name in pray’r! 

last, 1864 came, bringing in its 
L’ain ruin and disaster, not only 
3 onr heroine, bnt to many more 
in Northern Georgia. Finally, the Confed- 
erate army evacuated Atlanta ; and then 
Madame Adrian, as we must ^ now terra 
our heroine, took up her residence at 
Macon, Georgia. But in the disastrous bat- 
tle of Jonesboro, young Adrian fell, and it 
was impossible to recover his body. 

Upon Gerald Clifton devolved the painful 
duty of bearing the news to his wife. 
When Qiiptain Clifton entered Madame 
Adrian’s presence, the expression of his coun- 
tenance answered her anxious, questioning 
look better than words could have done. 
With a shriek, that would ring in his ears 



308 


marie’s mistake. 


until death, whenever his thoughts reverted 
to the subject, she fell senseless at his feet. 
It was hours after before she was restored 
to consciousness, and it was weeks before 
she appeared more than a mere wreck of 
herself. 

Nothing but the birth of a babe, which 
happened some weeks after, would have, 
even in the slightest degree, awakened in 
the heart of the terribly tried girl even a 
semblance of interest in life. 'But the tiny 
stranger very emphatically manifested his 
distaste to being neglected ; and between her 
interest in the babe — upon whom she be- 
stowed the names of both Antoine and 
Henri — and the garrulousness of old Eda, 
the poor girl began to look something like 
her former self. But in the winter of 1864, 
just as Madame Adrian had completed her 
preparations to go to Bichmond, to estab- 
lish her home there for an indefinite period, 
the ruthless hand of death snatched her last 
remaining treasure from her. In two short 
hours, her baby-boy sickened and died. 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


309 


O God of mercy and justice ! why could 
not one tie be spared Marie Adrian to bind 
her to life? Oh, to a woman thus bereft, 
life would seem indeed unendurable. But, 
child of earth, arraign not the justice of 
God. He, in his all-seeing wisdom, doeth 
all things well, as the sequel, even in this 
instance, will prove. 

Gerald Clifton procured leave of absence, 
and accompanied the poor girl to Eichmond, 
and after seeing her comfortably established 
there, he returned to the army. 

For some time after her arrival in Kich- 
mond, Madame Adrian still continued the 
listless, aimless existence she had fallen into 
upon the death of her babe. At last, she 
was . roused from her lethargy. Death had 
not yet completed his work. There were 
still other victims to be felled by his un- 
errinsr and relentless sickle. 

Our poor old friend Eda was the next 
who was claimed by the grim monster. 
Calmly and* peacefully she passed away, 
and her young mistress was indeed alone, 


310 


Marie’s mistake. 


for poor Taylor could not supply her place, 
notwithstanding his faithfulness. 

It was not very long after the death of 
old Eda, when the Confederate authorities 
concluded it would be impossible to main- 
tain their position in Richmond and Peters- 
burg, and Richmond Avas giv^en up. 

Richmond ! beautiful Richmond ! Where 
is it now? 

Behold yonder long expanse of blackened 
walls and smouldering ashes, that once 
formed a part of the fair city which was 
Virginia’s pride, aye, and the glory of the 
whole sunny South. 

We have frequently seen attempts at descrip- 
tion of the fall of the Confederate Capitol, 
but the scene was indeed indescribable ; and 
all attempt at description on my part would 
meet the fate of others — that is, fail of 
giving even a faint conception of that most 
terrible scene of the war. 

But it was right that it should be thus 
terribly sublime, — the death of a nation, 
which for four long years had sustained 


marie’s mistake. 


311 


itself even amidst privations and despair, and 
overwlieliniiii^ numbers. And what are those 
tiny papers which we see fluttering in the 
breeze? It is the money then thrown away, 
the surest evidence the Confederacy is indeed 
dead. 

A day or two after ‘the fall of Kichmond, 
I was presented with the following impromptu 
verses, written upon the back of a five- 
dollar bill. The author is unknown to me ; 
but I understood he was a private in the 
Confederate army : — ' / 


Representing nothing on earth now, 

And naught in the waters below it ; 

As a pledge of the nation that’s dead and gone, 

^ Keep it, dear friend, and show it. 

Show it to those who will lend an ear 
To the tale this paper Can tell. 

Of Liberty born, of the Patriot’s dream, 

Of the storm-cradled nation that fell. 

Too poor to possess the precious ore. 

And too much of a stranger to borrow. 

We issued today our promise to pay,’ 

And hoped to redeem on the morrow. 

The days rolled on, and weeks became years. 
But our coffers Avere empty still ; 

Coin was so scarce, that the treasury quaked 
If a dollar dropped into the till. 


312 


marie’s mistake. 


But the faith that was in us was strong indeed, 

And our poverty well discerned ; 

And these little checks represented the pay 
Our suffering volunteers earned. 

We knew it had hardly a v^e in gold, 

Yet as gold our soldiers received it; 

It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay, 

And each patriot soldier believed it. 

But our boys thought little of price or of pay. 

Or of bills that oft were overdue ; 

We well knew if it brought us bread for today, 

’Twas the best our country could do. 

Keep it ; it tells our history all over, 

From the birth of its dream to the last ; 

Modest, and born of the angel of Hope, 

Like the hope of success it passed. 

And where is he, that brave spirit which 
stood at the helm of this wrecked govern- 
ment-ship for four long years, and who at 
last had the inexpressible agony of behold- 
ing his precious charge dashed upon the 
treacherous rocks? .Go with me withiu the 
dungeon walls of Fortress Monroe, and see 
an aged and enfeebled man chained within a 
felon’s cell ; and behold how America shows 
her gratitude to a faithful public servant 
who had spent the best years of his life 
in her service. And now, in his riper age. 


marie’s mistake. 


313 


just because be happens to cherish and 
advocate opinions which she considers detri- 
mental to her interest, he is deprived of 
liberty; nay, his very life threatened. 

Oh, most grateful America ! Heaven defei" 
me from thy gratitude I 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


“ In all creation I stand alone, 

Still to tlfe rocks my dream a soul shall find, 
Mine arms shall wreath around the stone, 

My grief shall feel a listener in the wind ; 
My joy — its echo in the caves shall be ! 

Fool, if you will — fool for sweet sympathy ! ” 



iHE house in which our heroine 
resided was burned, and every 
particle of her wardrobe destroyed. 
Madame Adrian’s money was, of course, 
nearly all invested in government bonds, 
which became worthless upon the overthrow 
of the Confederate government. 


Thus, early in the spring of 1865, we 
find Madame Adrian friendless and almost 
penniless. For some days, she did not know 
what to do, or what course to pursue in 
tlic future. Finally, after the surrender of 
General Johnson, Gerald Clifton returned to 
Richmond, and offered to assist her. Any 
assistance, other than his advice, Madame 
Adrian refused. Aided by the latter, liow- 
ever, she was very soon ready to return 
home, or rather to New Orleans, for home 


maeie’s mistake. 


315 


she had none upon the face of God’s earth ; 
all was swept away — friends, fortune, every- 
thing that would render life desirable or 
even endurable. But still, the^ earnest wish 
to see New Orleans becamd, after awhile, 
almost all the interest she had in life. But 
even in this darling wish she was fated to 
meet disappointment. Just as everything was 
ready for their return, Madame Adrian be- 
came too ill to travel, and must necessarily 
be left in Virginia. It seemed as if her 
last hope in life went out when she found 
she must see the troops from Louisiana go 
home without her. But it was only for a 
short time this feeling held the^ascendancy ; 
soon her usual judgment and good sense pre- 
dominated over this mere momentary weak- 
ness, and she calmly talked over her future 
prospects with Gerald Clifton. He was very 
loth to leave Madame Adrian in Virginia, 
even with the many kind friends whose 
acquaintance she had formed, and strongly 
advocated her writing to Louis Lafourche, 
and placing herself under his protection. 


316 


marie’s mistake. 


To this entreat}^, Madame Adrian at last 
so far yielded as to address a letter to 
Paris, to Louis, telling him of her situation. 
Another letter was written to Louise, the 
widow of Antoine Lafourche. After some 
time, the answer came th Louise’s letter. 
Soon after Antoine’s departure to the arpiy, 
one of the children had died. Just about 
the time of the breaking up of the war, 
Louise — who had taken up her residence in 
New Orleans — lost her other babe, and then 
she proved that she had entirely forgotten 
him who was sleeping upon the battle-field 
of Chickamauga, by uniting herself in mar- 
riage with a Federal oflicer who belonged 
to General Butler’s army. 

It has frequently been a subject of deep 
thought and much speculation with me, if 
persons of very humble origin in life, in 
being raised to a high position by mar- 
riage, are not always influenced by merce- 
nary motives. I have sometimes thought 
the views poor Camille Lafourche cherished, 
up to the hour of her death, were very 


marie’s mistake. 


317 


probably the correct ones after all. I never 
approved of mesalliances, either on the part 
of male or female. Oh, how often do we 
see a young and inexperienced daughter of 
a noble family wreck her own happiness 
for life, nay, in many instances, blast her 
hope of eternity, by one of those miserable 
mesalliances. Neither are the victims to this 
scourge confined alone to women. Many 
noble men place their names and honor in 
the hands of women — their inferiors — and 
find out, when too late, the misery, nay, 
in many instances, dishonor, they have en- 
tailed upon themselves by so doing. 

Anxious as Gerald Clifton was to once 
more behold the beloved city of New Or- 
leans, the home of his adoption, he could 
not consent to leaving Madame Adrian until 
he placed her in her brother’s care. 

At last, early in July, a letter came from 
Paris, which explains itself without further 
comment from us ; — 


318 


marie’s mistake. 


Paris, , 1865. 

Madame Adrian, — Your letter received. 
Ill reply, would say : When you married, 
and by so doing displeased your relatives, 
you severed all your previous claims upon 
them. Still, I do not wish to see or know 
of a relative of my husband’s really want- 
ing the necessaries of life. Captain Clifton, 
your friend, states in his letter that you 
are so reduced as to be even in want. I 
shall therefore enclose twenty dollars, which, 
in the position in which you must neces- 
sarily live in the future, will be of con- 
siderable assistance to you. Eather than 
have you go into another family as a 
teacher or seamstress, I would employ you 
myself, but my children are scarcely old 
enough to commence their education; and, 
as to taking you- as a seamstress, I am 
fearful you would not exactly suit, as they 
are awful stylish here, and persons have to 
sacrifice their ideas of economy upon the 
altar of fashion. As we have spent a great 
deal of money, and do so still, we cannot 


marie’s mistake. 


319 


afford to support you, unless, as I said 
before, it was so you could in some measure 
earn your support by filling a situation in 
our family. You will find no difficulty in 
procuring a situation in a family or school, 
as my husband informs me you are very 
accomplished, and that an awful amount of 
money was spent on your education. Then, 
teaching is a very respectable profession. 
To tell the truth, I taught myself before I 
was married, and saved money enough to 
go to the Springs one summer; there, I 
met your brother, and we were married. 
Now, you are young, and may be equally 
fortunate as myself. As the Southerners 
must be wretchedly poor, I .will give you 
the address of my father, who will assist 
you in getting a situation up in Vermont. 
I will also write to him: 'Thomas Bennet, 
Bennington, Vermont.’ 

" Wishing you well, I subscribe myself, 
"Yours truly, 

"Annie Lafourche.” 


320 


]\iarie’s mistake. 


" How dare this woman, on whom your 
brother has lavished a princely fortune, 
thus insult you?’’ angrily exclaimed Captain 
Clifton, upon reading the letter. 

Stop, dear friend,” calmly replied Ma- 
dame Adrian. ''It is no more than I ex- 
pected from one who has been raised by 
marriage from penury to affluence. Antoine 
has told me a great deal about them ; and I 
do not, I confess, feel at all surprised at the 
receipt of that letter. Yet, in justice to my 
brother, I do not think he even knew of my 
application to himself and wife ; slie^ evidentl^^ 
has taken all the responsibility of the affair 
upon herself. But, dear friend, tins has 
given me the impetus I needed ; this insult 
has aroused my pride. God has given me 
talents that have heretofore remained dor- 
mant. Aided by those talents, and the 
fierce desire to avenge an insult offered to 
my family through me by this upstart, 1 
will yet carve out a position in the world 
so high that this shoddy aristocrat, with ail 
her pretensions, cannot aspire to an equality 


marie’s mistake. 


321 


with me. Do not, dear friend, longer delay 
here on my account. Your business requires 
your attention ; your friends anxiously await 
your coming. Go to them. Do not sacri- 
fice your worldly interests for one whom 
fate has left nothing in life to live for, 
but ambition and revenge. Go back. Cap- 
tain Clifton, to our sweet, sunny South ; 
leave me to fulfil my destiny. Did not the 
dying Antoine prophesy glory and honor 
for me in the future, and a short but 
brilliant life? By the sacred cross, his 
prophecy shall be realized by me; and this 
ignorant, heartless plebeian shall yet sue to 
me for pardo.n for this insult. The want 
of fortune will debar me from association 
with those whom my birth and education 
entitle me to consider no more than my 
equals;^ but oh, thank God, genius and 
talent are not monopolized by the favorites 
of fortune. Through the medium of tiic'pen, 
I will commune with the hearts of the 
noblest of our land. The American soul is 

surely not so completely absorbed in the 
21 


322 


marie’s mistake. 


accumulation of money that it cannot appre- 
ciate and acknowledge talent and merit, even 
though the aspirant for its favor be a pen- 
niless, friendless woman.” 

” But, Madame,” replied Captain Clifton ; 
*'you, of all others, are not fitted by 
nature and education to successfully struggle 
with the world. Especially in a literary 
career, you will have much to contend with, 
which you little dream of now. But will 
you not permit me to assist you in some 
manner before I leave ? O Marie ! forgive 
me, but I cannot part from you, perhaps 
forever, without telling you I love you. 
Yes, years ago, when I saw you at the 

residence of Father S , — the time when 

you forged those terrible bonds which, for 
a long time, cursed your life, — I loved you 
in that hour, and my love for jmu has only 
strengthened with time. Will you not give 
one the right to provide for your future? 
Crush those mad ambitions, hopes, and plans 
from your heart, if you would ever again 
know peace. Believe me, they will never 


marie’s mistake. 


823 ^ 


Lave fruition; and, after awhile, when, by 
nourishing, you give them strength, how 
terrible will be your disappointment when 
you find you have been madly chasing a 
golden butterfly which has eluded your eager 
grasp and escaped. Dearest Marie, will you 
not speak the word that will give me the 
right to protect you in the future from 
similar insults to the one you have just 
received, and from every care and sorrow 
within the power of man to ward oflf? Oh, 
I cannot, dearest Marie, leave you here 
alone and unprotected ; ” and Captain Clifton 
threw his arms around the slight form be- 
fore him and clasped her passionately to 
his heart. 

For one moment, the feeling of protection, 
of perfect trust and security, which Marie 
experienced, caused her to waver from her 
purpose. But oh, surely, at that moment, 
the spirit of some loved one hovered near 
and dictated the answer. O Antoine ! didst 
thou not, in that hour, watch over the des- 
tinies of thy loved one? 


324 


MARIE^S MISTAKE. 


Gerald j dear Gerald, my one earthly 
friend, I never dreamed before you loved me ; 
but now that .the sweet knowledge is mine, 
you have double claims for my regard ; for 
your love expressed for me in such an hour, 
combined with the warm friendship existing 
between you and Antoine, has awakened a 
feeling in my heart I had previously thought 
myself incapable of ever experiencing again. 
I cannot at present make you the promise 
you ask of me ; but in two years, with 
either ambition satisfied or disappointed, I 
will be your wife, provided you think me 
worthy waiting so long for, and you see 
no one you love better — which latter is 
not improbable ; and Madame Adrian smiled 
through her tears at the aggrieved look 
Captain Clifton’s countenance assumed, at 
what he termed her unjust suspicions. 

After trying repeatedly to induce Marie 
to change her mind. Captain Clifton was at 
last forced to desist, and return home with- 
out her. Poor Taylor, at his mistress’s re- 
quest, accompanied Captain Clifton, as she 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


325 


had not the nieans of taking care of him ; 
and feeling that, for her sake, Gerald would 
act as his future guardian. Taylor would 
have much preferred to remain and share 
the fortunes of his mistress, but this she 
would not permit him to do, and very 
unwillingly, he departed for New Orleans 
with Captain Clifton. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


“True courage scorns 
To vent her prowess in a storm of words ; 

But to the valiant, speaks alone.” 

“ The intent, and not the deed. 

Is in our power ; and, therefore, who dares greatly, 
Does greatly.” 

“ I dare all that becomes woman; 

She who dares more, is none.” 



Y the sale of an elegant and ex- 
pensive watch and chain, Marie 
Adrian had obtained money enough 
to meet her wants and those of Taylor, up 
to the time of Captain Clifton and the 
boy’s leaving for home, but after that, she 
began to think it was time to form some 
plans for the future. 

” A letter for you, Madame,” said a ser- 
vant, entering her room, about a week after 
Captain Clifton’s departure. 

Madame Adrian received the letter with a 
bright blush, well knowing from whom it 
came. Captain Clifton had gone by way of 
New York City, as he had business which 
called him there, and his letter was conse- 
quently dated from that place. 


marie’s mistake. 


327 


'"New York, , 1865. 

Darling Marie,— 

“ What is the past to us, Marie ? — have we not suffered ? 

Let us forget it as a nightmare dream, 

Put it away from us — drown all despairing — 

Sink it deep in oblivion’s stream. 

“ There is new life for us — life and its treasures — 

Let us enjoy them ; — let life be a dream — 

Never to ’waken from this side of heaven, 

When we have passed over the beautiful stream. 

"It is thus I would have my Marie feel; 
it is thus I would have her forget the bitter 
past. Would that you could have done so, 
and returned with me to New Orleans. 

” There are so many things, when parted, 
I would say to you, which, were we together, 
would shrink away unuttered into some deep 
corner of the mind. Feelings the tongue 
cannot express recoil upon an aching heart, 
and make us feel what a mockery and how 
bitter is life. 

" I know you are entering upon a new 
era in life, hence my anxiety upon your 
account. This anxious foreboding will obtrude 
itself, notwithstanding my but too perfect 


328 


marie’s mistake. 


knowledge of your indomitable will and 
perseverance. I know you will shrink from 
nothing. I can but feel that, upon the 
altar of ambition, you are sacrificing hope, 
happiness, love, all — everything the heart 
most yearns for. And with those cast under 
foot, literary glory will, in time, become 
your ged ; at its altar alone will you wor- 
ship. The golden laurels of literary fame 
will alone have value in your sight ; the 
more humble tributes of love and friendship 
will be scorned by you, or treated with 
indifference. For why, you will ask, should 
I regard one, or even half-a-dozen hearts, 
while I reign queen of thousands? 

" You have promised, in two years, to 
become my wife ; be your ambition satis- 
fied or disappointed, I know you will 
fulfil that pledge. Will you not promise 
me also, darling, that if, previous to that 
time, you become tired, of the adulations 
of the world, or wearied with the profes- 
sions of hollow-hearted friends, you would 
ask rest ^ from such a life, will you not 


marie’s mistake. 


329 


let me know ? Rest assured, no one will 
rejoice more in your success than I will. 

" Onward, upward, may you climb, until 
ambition’s immortal crown shall glitter on 
your noble brow. With patience may you 
toil up the steep ascent to the Temple of 
Fame, and there, in burning letters, in- 
scribe your name upon her broad scroll. 
May patience and perseverance be your 
motto ; let love be your barque ; hope be 
your sheet-anchor ; and truth, the banner 
under which you sail. And may time, that 
sheds his blight on all, only turn to you 
the brighter side, bringing happiness and 
sweet contentment, and sometimes thoughts 
of one — an attached soul-friend. 

" I shall write you very often, and hope 
to hear from you accordingly. And now, 
dear one, when those to whom you are 
surrounded prove false, remember there is 
one heart, which, while life remains, is in 
and through all circumstances wholly thine, 
that of 


Gerald Clifton.” 


330 f marie’s mistake. 

” Unjust, I think,” sighed Marie. ” Did 
I think his prophecy would be fultilled, I 
would even now swerve in my determina- 
tion. But he is mistaken. I feel that I can 
climb to the topmost round of the ladder 
of Fame, and still remain unchanged in 
heart. Surely, appreciation of friendship is 
not incompatible with the acquisition of 
fame? Could I think so, I should sadly 
waver in my purpose. For what would 
literary success be worth, if purchased with 
purity and truth? But he must be wrong. 
I can succeed, and still be all Gerald de- 
sires, affd Antoine, too, could have wished 
me.” And Marie Adrian’s mind wandered 
off into a dreamy reverie, from which she 
was aroused by a knock at her door. 

Upon opening it, she was quite surprised 

to see Mr. B , her landlord. He was 

one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the city. 
His chief residence was in the country, but 
since the war, he had resided the greater 
part of the time in the city. Upon the 
occupation of Richmond by the Federal 


marie’s mistake. 


331 


army, for the better protection of his prop- 
erty, he had taken several officers into his 
family as boarders. By chance, Madame 
Adrian had been referred to his house. 
Upon the present occasion, he entered the 
room of his guest, and, unasked, seated 
himself upon a sofa. 

"I understand,” said Mr. B , "that 

you are entirely alone and unprotected, 
Madame, and furthermore, if you will per- 
mit me to add, very destitute. Now, you 
know my wife is living, although she is 
deaf and otherwise afflicted, consequently I 
cannot make you an offer of marriage, 
although, did circumstances admit of it, I 
should be proud to do so. Well — ahem — 
to make my story short, if you will accept 
my love and protection, I will settle sufficient 
j^roperty upon you, to render you independent 
for life ; ” and the unprincipled scoundrel 
would have pressed a loathsome kiss upon 
the pure lips of Marie Adrian. Before he 
could accomplish his purpose, she sprang 
away from him, and while scorn and utter 


332 


marie’s mistake. 


contempt flashed from her e3^es, she ex- 
claimed, — 

"How dare you, here, under the very roof 
with your wife, thus insult a woman, be- 
cause you fancy she happens to be alone 
and unprotected? But in this conclusion 
you are mistaken : I am not unprotected. 
Yonder, in the glorious heavens, dwell an 
aiigel band, who constantly watch over me. 
They are the purifled souls of beloved and 
honored relatives, gone before me to praise 
and worship in a more perfect manner the 
All-wise Father. Neither am I alone on 
earth ; on yonder steeple, glittering in the 
glorious sunlight, is a cross, symbolical of 
a faith which is ever willing and able to 
protect its adherents. Now, begone from 
my presence. Within an hour, I shall leave 
your house, and never, with my consent, 
will we meet again.” 

The disappointed and crestfallen Mr. B 

left Madame Adrian’s presence, and for one 
moment courage failed, and, between her 
bitter sobs, she murmured, — 


marie’s mistake. 


333 


”And is this the commencement of my 
struggle with the world? O Gerald! if it 
is to be always thus, you were right. I 
am unfitted to follow out the destiny I have 
marked out for myself. But all are not 

like that man. Dear, good Father Francis 
is still at the church. I will go to him, 
and ask his assistance.” 

Soon she was in the presence of the 

kind-hearted priest, who lent an attentive 
ear to her relations of her troubles. By 

his assistance, she procured a small room 
with a good old lady who was renting her 
rooms, and within the hour, as she had 

proposed, she left the house of Mr. B . 

Then commenced her toils — trials that 
would have appalled any other heart than 
that of a woman who had no other interest 
in life- but the accomplishment of a great 
purpose — and everything, even the most 
gigantic difficulties, would be swept aside as 
mere straws from her pathway. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


“ Oh, I have suffered till ray brain became 
Distinct with woe, as is the skeleton leaf, 

Whose green hath fretted off its fibrous frame. 

And bare to our immortality of grief.” 

T would be impossible to attempt nar- 
rating even a veiy small part of the 
trials and struggles a woman would 
naturally encounter, who was treading the 
path our heroine had entered upon, without 
rendering any story even indefinitely long. 
We shall, therefore, leave it for the im- 
agination of our readei's, and omit the rela- 
tion of the many troubles and heartaches 
which fell to the lot of Marie Adrian 
during the first year after the breaking up 
of the war. 

She had managed to support herself in 
the humble manner in which she now lived 
by sewing and embroidery, and sometimes 
she was paid for some story or sketch 
which she occasionally sent to literary papers 
and magazines. But it was seldom this 
latter was the case, for there are always 



ihaeie’s mistake. 


335 


so many young aspirants for literary honors, 
that a nameless, friendless person entering 
the list has to struggle a long time before 
their frantic efforts at composition will 
command a price in market, or in many 
instances be recognized so far as to receive 
publication. Our heroine’s experience was 
no exception to that of many others who 
have entered the literary field, with the 
sanguine hope of very soon gathering "green 
laurels” and "golden honors.” To be sure, 
her contributions, although submitted to some 
of the principal editors and publishers of 
our country, had not, in a single instance, 
been refused, as unfit for publication ; but 
pride forbade Madame Adrian’s stating, in 
a private note to the editor, her destitute 
situation, and thus appealing to his kind- 
ness of heart. Such an appeal might have 
been the means of procuring her remuner- 
ation for the productions of her pen, even 
had their real merit not altogether justi- 
fied it. 

During the long, dreary summer and au- 


336 


marie’s mistake. 


tiimii that followed the breaking up of the 
war, Father Francis was of invaluable assist- 
ance to Madame Adrian in all her troubles 
and siifterings. 

To the noble Sisters of the Order of St. 
Joseph, too, she was indebted for innumer-. 
able favors. O Christian priest ! and holy 
sisters ! worthy laborers in the vineyard of 
Him who has promised a reward to those 
who even bestow a ''cup of cold water to 
the humblest of his followers in his name,” 
how infinitely great will be your reward, 
here and hereafter, for the glorious sacrifices 
you continually offer upon the altar of your 
Lord I 

Madame Adrian, upon the approach of 
winter, became so seriously ill, that a be- 
nevolent physician who was attending upon 
her, expressed his opinion that she would 
not, in that comparatively cold climate, 
survive until spring; and that, if possible, 
she should return to New Orleans. Upon 
his mentioning to his patient the absolute 
necessity of her return home, Madame Ad- 


marie’s mistake. 


337 


riau frankly told him of her perfect inabil- 
ity so to do, on account of want of money 
necessary to defray her expenses upon so 
long a journey. The kind-hearted physician 
determined, on hearing this, that she should 
not die without an effort, at least, on his 
part, to save her. He laid the case before 
some gentlemen who were members of the 
Virginia Legislature, and, as it happened at 
that time to be in session, they passed an 
act granting transportation for Madame Ad- 
rian to New Orleans. The latter part of 
the winter of 1865 and 1866, therefore, we 
find Marie Adrian en route for New Orleans. 
Oh, with what feelings of mingled pain and 
pleasure would she gaze once more upon 
the dear old Crescent City I There had 
some of the happiest hours of her young 
life been passed in the old school building 

on C Street. It was there she had first 

known and learned to love kind pere Lu- 
zerne. It was there, too, she had known the 
sweet mother-love ; and there was the tomb of 
her tiny babe, and her beloved father-in-law. 

22 


338 


marie’s mistake. 


And last, though not least, she would 
meet Gerald Clifton there. This latter con- 
sideration, however, did not cause the heart 
of Marie Adrian to pulsate one whit faster, 
because the feelings she bore him were not 
those of passionate, devoted love, whose 
very existence, floWeret-like, depended upon 
its sun. No, the sentiments existing were 
those of sincere friendship, mingled with 
many sweet, but sad memories of the past ; 
but the emotions, or wave of love, could 
never again ruffle the surface of that proud 
heart ; and then, love would have had a most 
powerful rival to contend with — the demon 
of ambition. Wherever he .sets his mark, 
whatever heart he fires, must become the 
slave of this demon ; there is no such thing 
as successfully resisting his power, and the 
victims must yield abject obedience to his 
sway. 

Oh, young votaries, would that the power 
were ours, as you kneel at the altar of 
ambition, to tear the scales from your eyes, 
that you might see how wretchedly unsatis- 


marie’s mistake. 


339i 


factory to the heart, even gratified ambition 
would be ; and that perhaps nine out of 
every ten waste youth, health, happiness, 
and love, in the pursuit of a bauble which 
they will never grasp. And oh, the mad- 
ness, the agonized yearning, that immedi- 
ately possesses the young heart, once this 
fiend takes up his abode there. 

Can six years of almost constant sorrow 
so change one? Is that tall, haughty wo- 
man, who stands upon the deck of the 
vessel, as it approaches the city, — is that 
the Marie Lafourche we introduced to our 
readers in the beginning of our story? Yes, 
it is the same ; yet it is not the same. It 
is the form, developed and matured, but 
not the spirit. That proitd, cold being, is 
not the joyous, affectionate, passionate, little 
hoyden of yore. But time, and contact with^ 
the world, have they improved or marred 
what was once a perfect child of nature? 
We will note the changes but six brief 
years have wrought. Does one approach 


340 


MARIE’S MISTAKE. 


her for the purpose of offering even the 
attentions ordinary civility requires, they are 
received so haughtily, so coldly, that they 
•are not liable to make a second attempt to 
break down the barrier of reserve in which 
she had entrenched herself, or, in other 
words, *'melt” the iceberg, as the passen- 
gers termed her. But, be charitable in your 
criticisms, O world; this is your handiwork; 
this is the transformation you have wrought; 
this cold, proud, suspicious woman was once 
a happy, confiding girl ; nature’s child ; but 
you deemed the glorious work incomplete ; 
you breathed upon that noble heart your 
blighting, blasting breath; and now, behold 
your work ! 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


Yet earth no consolation brings 
To mingle with these mournful sighs : 

But fervent prayer^ endowed with wings, 

To bear its mission to the skies. 

While tossed on Lffe’s tempestuous wave, 

What dangers wait — what storms assail; 

But He who rules the storms can save, 

' And quell the fury of the gale. ' 

A wand’rer on the Sea of Life, 

My eyes are fixed on that blest shore 
Where, free from earth, its toils and strife, 

I fain would rest— life’s trials o’er. 

MMEDIATELY upon her arrival 
in New Orleans, Madame Adrian 
sought employment, which she 
readily found ; and very soon, she was able 
to live far more comfortably than she had 
done in Richmond. Madame ' Adrian con- 
tinued her engagements with the New-Yoj-k 
l)apers, to which she had been contributing, 
besides writing a series of letters for 'one 
of the Sunday papers. And from the suc- 
cess of those very letters, ‘she "one morning 
awoke to find herself famous,” comparatively 
speaking. The peculiar state of mind she 
^ had been in, since the receipt of her 



\ 

i 


342 


marie’s mistake. 


sister-in-law’s heartless letter, especiall}'’ fitted 
her to write in a bitter, sarcastic, and 
rather exaggerated vein, which, however, 
seemed to take with the mass of the peo- 
ple, and scarcely three months elapsed after 
Marie Adrian landed in New Orleans before 
she had made her. mark as a writer. Yet 
her success could not be attributed to her 
family name — proud and honored as that 
had been as any in the land — for she had 
written under a nom de plume; and not even 
the editor knew her other than as a poor 
but talented writer, struggling for position 
and a name. Poor, struggling Genius ; God 
help thee everywhere ; battling alone with 
the demon of poverty, envy, competition. 
Poor and friendless, thou didst indeed have 
a brave heart to enter the lists, Marie, with 
the world telling thee thou couldst not 
succeed. But bravely, nobly, did MaHe 
Adrian prove how false were the prophecies 
with which the world sought to encourage 
her, as she struggled through the clouds 
into the glorious sunlight. But would Fate — 


marie’s mistake. 


343 


which had plucked, with relentless hand, 
every flower from her pathway — oh, would 
it not now permit her to wear the hard- 
earned laurel-wreath in peace? For a time, 
a very little time, it appeared as if fortune 
had indeed smiled upon her at last. But 
just as the goddess of success was about 
to bestow the coveted laurels, fate again 
interfered, and forbade their being awarded. 

Surely, some impatient reader cries, you 
will not again overshadow the pathway of 
Marie Adrian with gloom and despair I We 
have not been wandering through the fields 
of fiction and romance, gathering sweet- 
scented flowers for your pleasure and grati- 
fication, but we have been writing the true 
and faithful history of a woman, who lived 
and battled with destiny, and only yielded 
to its decrees when physical nature finally 
succumbed. 

Captain Clifton did not, since his return 
to the South, reside in New Orleans, but 
commenced the practice of his profession 
in Galveston, Texas ; therefore, he and 


344 


liarie's mistake. 


Madame Adrian did not meet very often, 
blit they corresponded regularly, and it ' is 
possible that Marie’s success was partially 
owing to the constant source of encourage- 
ment these letters afforded her. Father 

S , although very old, was still the 

ever faithful friend and adviser of Madame 
Adrian. Father Francis, too, had returned 
to his native city, and watched with no 
small degree of interest, the upward prog- 
ress of his protege. 

It is not to be supposed that Madame Adrian 
could live and write in New Orleans, and 
remain altogether unknown. . No ; the one 
redeeming quality in the moneyed aristocracy 
of America, is, their readiness to appreciate 
genius and talent; aye, and their willing- 
ness to patronize it too, as many a poor 
author can testify, to his or her sorrow. 

One morning, as Gerald Clifton sat in his 
office in Galveston, busily writing; Taylor, 
who still remained with him, entered with 
Lis mail. Hastily searching among the let- 


]viaeie’s mistake. 


345 


ters, he at last found one which claimed 

his attention, and caused the color in his 

cheeks to assume a brighter shade and his 

eye to sparkle with joy. Surely a business 

letter would not be the cause of such 

pleasurable emotion ? Poor Grerald ! your 

’happiness is premature; but be happy while 

it is within your power. To prevent the 

necessity of a long explanation, we give 

that letter in full : — 

/ 

' "New Orleans, S Street, 

"May—, Ito. 

Dearest Friend, — The last terrible 
drop has been added to my . cxt^ of woe, 
and, O God ! I can endure no more. 
Yesterday, whijp sitting in my room, think- 
ing of the past, and forming plans for the fu- 
ture, which was opening so gloriously before 
me, — as I sat thus, almost perfectly happy 
in my ideal world, — a servant entered the 
room, and told me a gentleman wished to see 
me. Thinking it was you, I told her to 
show the gentleman up to my sitting-room. 


346 


marie’s mistake. 


In a moment,^ she returned, and after point- 
ing out iny room, the girl retired, and the 
p.erson entered. The moment I lifted my 
eyes to his face, and recognized him, the 
chill of death seized upon my heart. Jean 
Luzerne stood before me. *The old adage 
verified. 

"He, it appears, had made his escape, 
although severely wounded, but had not met 
a very cordial reception from the Federals ; 
he had, in ' short, filled the whole ^catalogue 
of crime and degradation, as his counte- 
nance bore but too evident traces of, and 
at last had returned to New Orleans. 
Here, he found himself forgotten, or, if 
remembered, shunned by those whom he 
had formerly known ; and he was now ex- 
isting in one of the lowest* haunts of the 
city. After I had sufliciently recovered my 
composure to converse with him, I asked, — 

"^And why, Captain Luzerne, have you 
come to me ; you have no claims upon me ? 
I am not now possessed of siiflicient wealth 
to excite your cupidity.* 


marie’s mistake. 


347 


0 

' It does not now require the .amount of 
money it once did to tempt me,’ whined 
the loathsome wretch. * To he sure, you 
have no great fortune now, but you can 
make money yourself, if I keep dark ; which 
I promise to do, conditionally. You, as the 
widow of a Confederate oflScer, stru^oflin^ 
for a position, can command the sympathies 
of the public, and fortune is yours. Now, 
I never did care particularly for you, and, 
as the fair Julie is still here, I don’t care 
to claim you as my wife ; but you must 
give me money enough to enable me to live 
like a gentleman. If you refuse, I will pro- 
claim to the world the fact of your having 
been the mistress of Adrian ; for his wife 
you could not have been, and I living. I will 
also claim you as my wife ; not the wife 
of Jean Luzerne, the half- way-respectable 
sea-captain, either; but as the wife of Joe 
Brown — as I am now called — the gambler; 
and sometimes, when that profession fails, 
something not quite so respectable as even 
that profession. Yes, refuse, and your name 


348 


MARIE^S MISTAKE. 


becomes a by-word eveu iii the lowest dens 
of vice ill the city. Tomorrow night, I 
shall call here for your answer ; in the 
meantime, you cannot escape me.’ And with 
that threat and vile proposition ringing in 
my ears, he left me. 

” And does Jean Luzerne think his cruelty 
has totally obliterated every vestige of the 
Lafourche honor from my heart? Does he 
not know death would be welcomed by me 
in preference^ to living by means so horrible, 
so dishonorable, as those proposed by him? 
I, occupying a false position, and trading 
upon the public sympathies, making capital 
of their favor and kindness ? O God ! give 
me death instead of a life so repulsive, so 
utterly loathsome. 

” The moment I could find strength to 

walk, I hurried to Father S , and en- 

Vreated his permission to enter the Order of 
A^hich my old friend, Josie De La Tour, is 
'jiow Mother Superior. After much entreaty, 
t gained his and Father • Francis’s consent ; 
iind I enter immediately upon my novitiate. 


marie’s mistake. 


349 


Yet, dearest friend, I am not unhappy ; I 
am calm — yet it is the calmness of des- 
pair. You will blame me, I fear, for the 
course I have pursued ; but, though the 
thought grieves me, yet it cannot change 
me from my purpose. No, Gerald, a dark 
curse has hung over me since the hour I 
became the wife of Jean Luzerne. You will 
say to me, 'If this man has any legal 
claims upon you, the law will free you ; 
but he has not. You were the legal wife 
of Adrian.’ But, dear friend, disgrace and 
ruin are inevitable. I could not have been 
the lawful wife of both and, oh God ! 
ruin — disgrace — this is the reward of all 
my toil. O Antoine ! come to me, and 
bear my soul away with thine ! I cannot 
bear it. We will meet no more on earth ; 
but yonder, with our loved and lost, all sin 
and despair will be forgotten. 

" Yours ever, 

"Marie.” 

" O heavens ! Marie lost to me forever ! ” 


350 


marie's mistake. 


aud the strong man sunk to the floor, as 
if felled by a lightning-stroke. 

The year of novitiate is over, and the 
hour for taking those irrevocable vows has 
arrived. Alone in her cell, Marie awaits 
the coming of the Mother Superior and the 
Sisters, to deck her in the bridal array 
befitting the ceremony. 

A light but firm step sounds along the 
hall, and Josie De La Tour, the Mother 
Superior, enters the cell. 

” I am glad to find you so calm and 
resigned, sweet sister, to (what may appear 
to some persons) a hard fate. But, in 
your case, be thankful to God and our 
Holy Mother, that, in mercy, so glorious 
and acceptable an avenue of escape from so 
horrible a future is yours. The Sisters 
come to dress you for the ceremony ; " 
and the Superior hurried away, as some 
of the nuns entered the cell, bearing the 
beautiful paraphernalia of a bride. Was it 
to hide from the eyes of the Sisters the 


marie’s mistake 


351 


emotions that white, despairing face called 
up, and which — calm and cold as she ap- 
peared — Josie De La Tour could not long 
endure and control in Marie’s presence? 
before the altar kneels Marie, whilst, from 


“ The latticed gallery came a chant 
Of psalms most saint-like, most angelical, 

Verse after verse rung out how holily, 

The strains returning, an (f still, still returning; 
Methought it acted like a spell upon her. 

And she was casting off her earthly dross. 

Yet it was sad as sweet, and ere it closed. 

Came like a dirge. Then her head ^as shorn, 

And the long tresses in her hands were laid. 

That she might fling them from her, saying, ‘ Thus, 
Thus I renounce the world and worldly things ! ’ 
When, as she stood, her bridal ornaments 
Were, one by one, removed, e’en to the last, ♦ 

That she might say, flinging them from her, ‘ Thus, 
Thus I renounce the world : ’ when all was changed. 
And as a nun, in homeliest guise, she knelt. 

Veiled in her veil, crowned with her silver crown, 
That crown of lilies, as. the spouse of Christ, 

Well might her strength forsake her, and her knees 
Fail in that hour ! ” 


As Gerald Clifton stood with the few 
persons who were witnesses of the cere- 
mony, it seemed as if each word spoken 
was indeed his death knell. _ 

He stood with tearless eyes, and beheld 
the raven trusses of Marie shorn from her 


352 


marie’s mistake. 


lleE^d, which had been so often caressed by 
the hands of affection. Yes, he stood with 
tearless eyes ; but ah, the 

“ Tear-drops that the eye deny, 

Fall dreary on the heart.” 

The holy rite at last is over, and she 
who was once Marie Lafourche, but now 
will be known as Sister Anastacia, is alone 
in her cell. Night has cast his mantle over 
the earth, and all nature is sleeping. But, 
early, even before the gray light of dawn 
had commenced to illume the earth, the 
deep-toned bell called the nuns from their 
hard couches to the early mass. But its 
solemn tones did not arouse one sleeper in 
that convent. The Mother Superior noticed 
. that Sister Anastacia was not with the others 
in the chapel, and therefore, as soon as her 
duties would permit, she hastened to her 

f 

cell. And there, upon her pallet, lay Marie 
Lafourche, pale and cold in death. Yes, she 
who had for so many years travelled along 
the weary journey of life alone,” had died 

alone,” and her worn, despairing soul had 


marie’s mistake. 


353 


found peace and rest at last, -in the pres- 
ence of God. " Heart disease,” the physi- 
cian said ; but, believe it not. '' Died of a 
broken heart,” could, in all truth, have been 
carved upon her urn. 

Early in the forenoon. Father S vis- . 

ited the Sisters, and was much shocked to 
learn of the poor girl’s sudden death. With 
him was Father Francis ; and awaiting the 
two priests, in a carriage at the gate, was 
Gerald Clifton, wIk) had witnessed the cere- 
mony the previous day. When Father 

S found the corpse had been prepared 

for the grave, and lay in state in the 
chapel, he sent Father Francis out to the 
carriage to break the sad news to Captain 
Clifton, and to offer him the mournful pleas- 
ure of beholding the corpse, if he so desired. 

In a few minutes. Father Francis returned, 
accompanied by Gerald, and in a moment 
more he was alone,* kneeling beside Marie’s 
coffin. Then all his forced calmness gave 
wa}^ ; and when, an hour after, he left the 

chapel, hope, and all interest in life were 
23 


i 




354 marie’s' mistake. 

gone. For, * even while she lived (a nun 
/ 

though she was), life would have been en- 
durable ; but dead ! dead I oh, it was more 
than he could - bear. 


CONCLUSION. 


day, Josie De La Tour was 
for to visit a poor woman 
ig in one of the poorest huts 
ill the city. Josie found the poor creature 
was dying of disease, brought upon" her by 
want and suffering. 

m 

” What is your name ? ’’ kindly asked the 
Sister. ''Have you no friends?” 

" It matters little now, to keep my se- 
cret, since I have but a few hours to live. 
My name is Amy Mar. I married, contrary 
to the wishes of my parents, Paul Mar. 
He never loved me, and rendered my life 
wretched. At length, when he had squan- 
dered all our property, he was one night 
shot dead at a ball, for paying too much 
attention to a married lady. His propensity 
for flirting never left him, and was the 
cause of his death. I have become reduced 
to what you see me.” 

Josie attended to the poor creature until 
she died, and the evening after her death. 



356 


marie’s mistake. 


the Mother Superior’s prayers were longer 
than usual; and we may readily aver that 
she fervently returned thanks to the kind 
Father who had spared her the terrible fate 
which once awaited her as the wife of 
Paul Mar. 

Louis Lafourche will never return to 
America, and learn, wh^i only too late, of 
his sister’s fate. 

In a foreign land roams a weary wan- 
derer, impatiently awaiting the summons of 
death. Miserable, wretched as the poor 
stranger is, that is all that was ^once the 
noble, talented Gerald Clifton. Far from 
his native land he still wanders, seeking in 
continual change oblivion of the past. 

The next day after Marie Adrian’s death, 
the following notice appeared in the local 
column of a city paper : — 

"Last night, a man calling himself Joe 
Brown (but who was supposed to have 
once been a person of some respectability), 
was killed in a low den of infamy in Philip 
Street. As no one came to claim the body. 


marie’s mistake. 


357 


it was this morning placed in a pauper’s 
coffin, and interred at the city’s expense.” 

Thus, upon the same night, had Jean Lu- 
zerne and his victim entered the presence 
of their God. But, oh, under how different 
circumstances ! 

Julie De Bourghe and Ned Murray, who, 
upon the breaking up of the war, had 
returned to New Orleans, still live to pol- 
lute God’s fair earth with their loathsome 
presence. 

Josie De La Tour, Father S , and 

Father Francis, are yet faithful laborers in 
their Master’s vineyard. 

And now, O reader, my task is done. 
Together we have journeyed over the span 
of a life ; and I lay my humble tribute upon 
the altar of your magnanimity, only praying 
you to be lenient in your criticisms; and 
ever remember, it is not a sweet bouquet I 
have gathered for you, from the flowery 
fields of romance, but only a Woman’s 


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